Episode 96: The Art Of Being Unedited
Written by voltaires_inkwell
Authenticity is not loud.
It does not arrive dressed for applause, nor does it rehearse its entrance. It moves quietly through the body, like breath you forgot you were holding. It is the unedited version of you; the glance that lingers too long, the voice that trembles when it means something, the instinct you follow even when it costs you and it always costs you.
There is a peculiar beauty in that kind of honesty. Not polished, not curated, but alive. It flickers in imperfections: in the way your thoughts spill out unevenly, in the moments you choose truth over approval, in the subtle refusal to become something more convenient, something less problematic...something not you.
To be authentic is to stand in your own light without adjusting its temperature for others. It is the courage of being seen without translation. No softening. No distortion. Just presence; raw, specific, irreplaceable. And somehow, that is what draws people closer.
Because authenticity does not ask to be admired. It simply exists, and in doing so, it gives others permission to exist more fully too. It says: you do not have to perform to be worthy. You do not have to edit yourself to be loved.
There is beauty in that; quiet, defiant, enduring, and raw.
The kind that does not fade, because it was never trying to be anything other than real. 🫶
~
Episode 97: Until You Come Home
Written by lifeispoetrytoo
Until You Come Home
I ache for the moment when we can simply be us,
unraveled by distance, uncurled by time’s insistence.
Let the hour arrive where hands find their map anew,
where every touch redraws the familiar lines into poetry.
You occupy my thoughts, my dreams, my heart;
I long for you, and my pulse quickens
in anticipation of the moment you come home to me.
My love, I miss you.
Until then, I listen for your steps in the hall,
for the sound of your breath easing into mine,
for the small rituals—coffee steam, a shared smile—
that stitch the day’s fragments into a single thread.
When you return, let the world fall away:
the clock, the noise, the ordinary glare of daylight,
and leave us in the soft gravity of your embrace,
where every whispered promise is a dawn.
Let me learn your mouth anew in the language of patience,
let me memorize the warmth of your hand in the dark,
let the quiet deepen until it feels like home—
not a place, but a compass, always pointing true.
And if the night keeps its own pace, if distance keeps score,
we will write our own counter-melody in the margins of time:
two voices, one pulse, a shared breath that never breaks.
~
Episode 99: I love the sound of city rain...
Written by toujours.ria
I love the sound of city rain..
carrying with it the slightest spring chill,
through a barely cracked window
as I melt into the reprieve
of a blankets gentle touch on my skin
and a book's promise a new story waiting,
as the softest breeze
wisps around me like a whisper in a world far too loud
who says we are bound by reality anyway?
when turning pages can so easily take us away,
and raindrops transform even the most ordinary day?
I love the sound of city rain..
~
Episode 100: Meander
Written by Anureet
Hope & Should
such flaky words
& flakiness has no place here
sharp shapes of slate chipped my mind
but then
was made whole eventually
in a winding way
mistiful confusion
then
the path appears
autumn fall fell into
cosy comforts
but don’t let the season fool you
the place, the home is where
you choose it to be
where the heart is
or could be
choose home as a state of mind
so yes, sharp shapes of slate may
chip away but decide to
be made whole
holistically & eventually
the suffocation
&
the morose heaviness
imparted onto my wellbeing
past my comfort baseline
of melancholy
hovering at the dipping point
of
the
depressive state;
but I go to New England for the Fall
so I don’t fall
Background music by voltaires_inkwell