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I’ve spent today thinking about shadows—not the comforting ones that provide refuge, but the kind cast by those who move without courage, their only purpose to wound. It’s strange, really, how some create entire personas just to whisper accusations into the void, hiding behind empty profiles and false names. What does it say about someone, that they choose to exist in this way?

Maybe it’s envy. Maybe boredom. Maybe it’s something deeper—a dissatisfaction so profound that it spills over in the form of cruelty. Whatever the reason, it’s always the same. They hurl their words like stones and then vanish, thinking themselves bold when all they’ve done is expose their own fragility.

I don’t fear confrontation. I don’t fear words. But I do pity those who squander their voice on harm instead of creation. There’s a power in standing by your words, unhidden, unafraid, and owning who you are. To strike from the dark isn’t bravery—it’s cowardice, thinly disguised.

And yet, shadows aren’t inherently cruel. I know this because I walk among them too. Not all shadows creep with malice; some shelter, some protect, and some serve as a quiet strength. The difference lies in intent. I’ve always believed that shadows can empower when used wisely, when they move with purpose and not destruction.

So, to those who linger in the darkness, whispering accusations or throwing stones: you don’t unsettle me. You might think yourself clever, but you’ve already revealed your weakness. Shadows like yours fade quickly, swallowed by the very emptiness that created them.

And then there are the shadows like mine. We stand firm, unapologetic, unshaken. We choose to build instead of break, to speak instead of cower, to illuminate even in the dimmest light. Yes, I walk in the shadows—but I do so with purpose.

There’s a weight to being a shadow. Not everyone carries it well. But I do, and I always will.

- Shadomoses

COMMENTS

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Slain
03:45 Jan 01 2025

I appreciate this perspective greatly. Thanks for sharing it.

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queenofchaos
04:39 Jan 01 2025

Again getting deep within a meaning…the “intent”
This is one of the honest journals I’ve read in a very long time.
Thank you for sharing again YOU

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POST COMMENT

The air is crisp tonight, biting against my skin as I stand by the window, looking out at the city. Snow blankets the streets below, reflecting the golden glow of string lights that hang across balconies and lampposts. The soft hum of laughter and celebration drifts up, mingling with the occasional pop of early fireworks. Inside, the warmth of the room wraps around me, a stark contrast to the icy world just beyond the glass.

The room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the amber flicker of candles and the soft glow of a string of lights draped along the mantle. A glass of champagne sits beside me on the small table, catching the light like tiny stars trapped in amber. Music plays softly in the background—nothing loud or demanding, just a melody that flows gently, accompanying my thoughts without interrupting them.

I’m here alone, but it doesn’t feel lonely. There’s a quiet intimacy to this solitude, as if the room itself is keeping me company. A journal lies open on the table, the pages half-filled with reflections of the year now ending. Words pour out as easily as the memories flood my mind—some written with gratitude, others with the kind of tenderness reserved for wounds that are still healing.

The scent of cedar and clove from the candles fills the air, grounding me as I flip through the pages of the journal, my fingers brushing against the paper. Each word feels heavier tonight, weighted by the knowledge that in just a few hours, they will belong to another time.

I sip from my glass, the cool bubbles fizzing against my lips, a quiet reminder of celebration even in this contemplative moment. Outside, the muffled crack of a firework draws my attention. I watch as it bursts in the distance, filling the sky with a fleeting bloom of light. The colors fade as quickly as they came, leaving behind only the darkness of the winter sky.

As midnight approaches, the air seems to change. There’s an energy, a hum, as if the world itself is holding its breath. I glance at the clock, its steady hands marching toward the inevitable. For a moment, time feels suspended, stretched between the weight of the past and the hope of the future.

When the clock strikes twelve, the city erupts. Fireworks bloom in rapid succession, painting the sky in vibrant reds, golds, and silvers. The sound of cheers and noisemakers fills the air, the energy infectious even in my quiet space. I raise my glass toward the window, toasting the unknown that lies ahead.

“Here’s to the stories yet to be written, the moments waiting just beyond the horizon, and the courage it takes to embrace them. Tonight, the world begins again.”

And with that, I take a deep breath, letting the night, the year, and this moment settle into me like a warm embrace.

- Shadomoses