There are moments the world forgets to turn, and time holds its breath between heartbeats. We walk, uncertain, through echoes of ourselves— seeking meaning in mirrors and in dust. It’s not the thunder that shapes us, but the stillness after it fades. For in that hush, we meet our truest voice— a whisper born of loss, of hope, of grace. And we understand at last: we were never chasing light. We were learning how to see in the dark. ©️ Lyia Meta RAINY DAY by JULYO feat. LYIA ME

The glass shattered before she even knew she had dropped it. Not just the glass — the moment, the day, the illusion she’d been carrying...

Foreword / Prelude This is not about one person, or one story. It is not written with blame or bitterness. Rather, it is an observation...

My childhood wore hand-me-down shoes, gladiator sandals bought too big, slipping loose with every mile. Still, the journeys were my...

Foreword by Lyia Meta The first time I watched Horton Hears a Who! —the 2008 CGI animated film from Blue Sky Studios, distributed by 20th...

Trust is such a fragile thing. We speak of it easily, but living it is far harder. Trust requires surrender. It asks us to believe in...

I do not hear the world as you do. Its voices bloom in shades, each word a brushstroke on the canvas of my mind. Crimson folds around...

Foreword by Lyia Meta It’s no secret that I’ve always been a sucker for period dramas and timeless classics. One story that has stayed...

Forward I haven’t done much reading lately—music takes up most of my time now. But many years ago, I was constantly buried in books. The...

Sundered and Reforged: What It Means to me. by Lyia Meta We don’t always break with sound. Sometimes the fracture is silent — a slow...

She didn’t ask for height. She earned it. Born under a sky of shoulds and shadows, she grew beneath Jupiter— beneath the knuckle of...

He called me by my name. No one ever does that. They pretend. They walk around me like I’m furniture with eyes. But he didn’t. He looked...

"Some lines don’t rise. They pull." - Lyia Meta The line bent, not up but down— a soft slope into ruin. It didn’t ask. It took. First, a...

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙩𝙨...

Foreword Some people move through the world carrying more than what’s visible. You can feel it when you're with them. Like something...

Foreword As a child, I was completely captivated by the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I spent countless...

Foreword by Lyia Meta When I was younger, Greek myths filled the quiet spaces in my mind. I didn’t just read them—I carried them. I...

FOREWORD Memory, Fragility, and the Books That Stayed With Me I didn’t start with The Diary of Anne Frank. My first introduction to the...

Foreword by Lyia Meta There are songs that don’t just play—they echo. They follow you through time, quietly altering the way you see...

Foreword by Lyia Meta Many years ago, I became utterly absorbed in the story of Jeanne d’Arc, better known to many as Joan of Arc.¹ Her...