lepinn

I swear, some nights feel like war, like my mind and my body are stuck in a battle that neither of them signed up for. Like I’m running toward something I can’t see, but I still feel the weight of it chasing me, pushing, pulling— gravity made of guilt and ambition, dragging me somewhere between "not enough" and "too much." And me? I’m just here, lying awake at 3 a.m., rewriting the same sentence in my head: Why am I like this? Why do I wake up feeling behind in a race no one asked me to run? Why does life feel like a locked door and I’m the fool without a key? People say, "You’re worthy." "You’re enough." "You matter." And I nod, like I believe them, like I don’t spend every night replaying my own failures in slow motion, like my reflection doesn’t feel like a stranger I’ve been trying to make peace with. Because truth is— I don’t feel like enough. Not for love, not for purpose, not for the dreams that keep me gasping for air but never ...

..." I thought I knew enough about love,till I was stuck between my rough past and the mess in my hands, crippled by the shame in my heart ,my mind broken by images of you breaking down with tears in your eyes, there was no way out , I knew I had fumbled the love of my life with the hurt I had caused,I was blind to what was good for me and now it's about to be gone,but ain't love 'possed to be blind— I tried finding comfort ...."baby I gotta tell you sumn'...my heart protested the confines of my lungs and drummed freedom tunes with the urgency of a man on death raw... my tongue became a sharpened  nail that would hang me on a tree. I mean the last time I was honest it was used against me and who's to tell if this time I had better judgement, men I didn't even trust me , so trust me I was dying on the inside when I knew we were gonna have this conversation again I...was always a man of my word but lately I'm lost in space , as I keep going back (ba...

I imagine I wouldn’t like it if the seasons carried the winds, telling tales of how to love, choosing when to be warm or cold, never fully unraveling, because the time ain't right. How we'd hold it in, anticipating the passage of time, as if love were bound to its rhythm, as if space must bow to the dominance of fleeting days. But love— true love— is not a whisper of spring nor the hush of winter’s hush, not the burn of summer’s flame nor the crisp retreat of fall. Love is the sun that lingers, the fire that does not falter, a warmth that does not wait for the world to call it forth. It stands steady in storms, breathes soft in stillness, drapes the cold in gentle arms and welcomes every dawn the same. So here I kneel, hands in soil, tending roots, watching the sky, as you rest, delicate and free, on a lilac swayed by the wind. Little wanderer, do you fear the frost? Do you long for endless spring? Yet here you are, wings open wide, trusting that love outlasts the cold. If the ...

    Chapter 1 Night 1 The room was dim, lit only by the faint, flickering light of a single candle that seemed to mock him with its tenuous hold on life. He sat there, knees drawn to his chest, his gaze locked on the reflection that wasn’t his but still belonged to him—the man in the glass box. It was a cruel prison, this invisible cell, a barrier that didn’t bind him physically but tethered his soul to a world he could neither escape nor embrace.   For years, he had sought enlightenment, clawing at the edges of wisdom like a man desperate for air. But every time he felt close—when the faint glow of truth danced on the horizon—it was swallowed by shadows. These were not shadows cast by the light, but shadows birthed from within, emanations of the dark desires he had tried so hard to bury.   His mind became his tormentor, a labyrinth of shame and guilt where every turn led to another haunting whisper of the choices he had made. Each one was a stone in the fo...

This morning, I stumbled where I should have risen. I let silence take the place of praise, forgot the rhythm that your name deserves to be spoken with. Forgive me, my love— not just for the moment I let slip, but for all the ways I should’ve shown you that you are my everything, my always. Seven months. Seven months of building a temple with you— brick by brick, kiss by kiss. Seven months of learning the language of your soul, where every word tastes like honey, and every silence speaks volumes. Seven months of being held by the kind of love that carries ancestors in its roots, the kind of love that knows the weight of storms but stands unshaken, unbreakable. For you every moment is an awakening of your devine essence Everytime you fix your crown ,the earth resonates in angelic concord that prophesies your royalty Your steps solidifies as the road cracks beneath them. Your spirit—soft yet unyielding—is the kind that lifts nations, that bends injustice into harmony. you wear grace like...

To the Queen that knows her worth It feels like a miracle, how we met... not just the kind they preach about on Sundays, but the kind that whispers in the quiet spaces between what is and what could be. Time feels different when I’m with you, like it bends and softens, slipping through fingers that once held scars. What’s left between us is pure, raw, something eternal, like the first breath after nearly drowning. You are not just a woman...you are a force, a hymn sung in a language only the stars can translate. You carry your pain like a badge, but you wear it with a tenderness that turns wounds into wisdom. It’s divine, the way you move through this world... unshaken, but soft. A fighter who knows when to rest her fists. A queen who doesn’t demand love, but inspires it just by being. I see you, really see you. Not just the smile that makes time stutter, but the quiet resolve underneath it... the way you hold your head high even when the world tries to pull you down. You’ve walked thr...