Perigee Vignettes

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Perigee Vignettes Each story, poem, or reflection stands alone, yet together they form a constellation of experiencesโ€”raw & resonant.

Whether youโ€™re here for inspiration, introspection, or simply to pause and feel, Perigee Vignettes invites you to linger in the nearness.

12/10/2025
The End GameSheโ€™s been the archer, been the prey,Watched teardrops on her guitar fall away.Sheโ€™s cried in the bathroom, ...
27/08/2025

The End Game

Sheโ€™s been the archer, been the prey,
Watched teardrops on her guitar fall away.
Sheโ€™s cried in the bathroom, screamed โ€œItโ€™s me, hiโ€,
Wondered why all the boys just said goodbye.

There was Harry with headlights and late-night calls,
Jake left her standing in heartbreak halls.
John played games with a purple pen,
But she turned the page with her words again.
With Style and Out of the Woods, she kept moving onโ€”
Each love a lesson, each heartbreak a song.

But then came Kelce, with a throw and a smile,
And suddenly daylight replaced all her trials.
She wasnโ€™t wonderstruck just for a nightโ€”
She found peace, and it felt right.

Now she says โ€œI donโ€™t wanna keep secrets just to keep youโ€,
He says โ€œIโ€™d be enchanted to meet youโ€ came true.
He held out a ring with a heart so brave,
She thought, this love is golden, like the eras I gave.

No more champagne problems, no cruel summer pain,
Just you belong with me playing again.
So hereโ€™s to the girl who wrote her scars into songs,
And the man who knew where she belonged.

Call it what you want, but itโ€™s more than just fameโ€”
Itโ€™s forever & always, not just a game.

19/08/2025

The uncut interview of Liza Soberano with Boy Abunda (2023)

19/08/2025

Binabago tayo ng panahon at mga pagkakataon.

๐ŸŽฅAlone/ Together

16/08/2025

Liza: "Me and Quen broke up almost three years ago.โ€

15/08/2025

๐—ง๐—ถ๐˜๐—น๐—ฒ: ๐—™๐˜‚๐—น๐—น ๐—–๐—ถ๐—ฟ๐—ฐ๐—น๐—ฒ
____

They spent ten years building a love story without ever saying โ€œI do.โ€ Then they walked away, convinced it had run its course. Five years later, fate brings them face to faceโ€”not as lovers, not as enemies, but as two people with unfinished pages between them.

Is love something you can grow out of? Or something you grow back into?

โ€œFull Circleโ€ is a quiet, tender story about time, change, and what happens when love returns after goodbye.
_____

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿญ: ๐—” ๐——๐—ฒ๐—ฐ๐—ฎ๐—ฑ๐—ฒ ๐—ผ๐—ณ ๐—จ๐˜€

They met at 23, wide-eyed and full of big dreams. Emma was painting in the park when Daniel, a freelance writer, sat on the bench beside her, hoping to find a spark of inspiration. She offered him a smile, he offered her a story idea.

They fell in love slowly, the kind that simmers instead of burns. Over ten years, they moved cities, built careers, shared apartments, fought about groceries, and laughed about broken furniture. But they never married. Neither of them asked. Neither of them explained why.

By 33, their love felt more like a routine than a rhythm. Conversations became shorter. Silence grew heavier.

And one Sunday morning, over cold coffee and cracked eggshells, Emma said, โ€œI think weโ€™ve outgrown this.โ€

Daniel nodded.

They packed separately and left without drama.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿฎ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—Ÿ๐—ถ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐˜€ ๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—–๐—ต๐—ผ๐—ผ๐˜€๐—ฒ

Emma moved to the coast and opened an art studio. She filled her days with brushstrokes, gallery openings, and the oceanโ€™s quiet encouragement. She dated brieflyโ€”men who were charming but never quiteโ€ฆ him.

Daniel stayed in the city, took a job at a publishing house, and finally published his novel. It wasnโ€™t about Emma, but she was there, between the lines. He too tried dating. It never felt real.

Years passed. They didnโ€™t keep in touch. At first, it was painful. Then, it was easier. Eventually, it was justโ€ฆ history.

Until one October, five years later, Daniel walked into a small seaside bookstore to sign copies of his second book.

And there she was.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿฏ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—š๐—น๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฐ๐—ฒ ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜ ๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ด๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐—˜๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐˜†๐˜๐—ต๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด

Emma didnโ€™t expect him. She was browsing poetry, thumbing through Rilke, when she looked up and saw Daniel standing across the room. Older, a little thinner, eyes still sharp. He looked like her memory, but more weathered.

โ€œEmma?โ€

โ€œDaniel.โ€

Neither smiled immediately. The silence between them wasnโ€™t awkwardโ€”it was thick with everything they didnโ€™t say for five years.

They went for coffee, just like the first time, only now they were 38. The conversation flowed easier than expected. They didnโ€™t talk about the pastโ€”not yet. Instead, they talked about paintings and publishers, dogs they adopted, parents who got older.

They both wondered the same thing: was there still something here?

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿฐ: ๐—”๐—น๐—บ๐—ผ๐˜€๐˜ ๐—ฆ๐˜๐—ฟ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ด๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐˜€, ๐—”๐—น๐—บ๐—ผ๐˜€๐˜ ๐—›๐—ผ๐—บ๐—ฒ

For the next few weeks, they met oftenโ€”walks on the beach, dinners that stretched until midnight. There was laughter, but it was different now. Softer. More cautious.

Then came the night Emma asked, โ€œWhy didnโ€™t we ever get married?โ€

Daniel stared at the candle between them. โ€œMaybe we were scared it would change things.โ€

She nodded. โ€œBut things changed anyway.โ€

He reached across the table, fingers brushing hers. โ€œDo you ever think we gave up too soon?โ€

Emma hesitated. โ€œSometimes. But other times, I think we needed that break to become who we are now.โ€

They didnโ€™t kiss that night. They werenโ€™t sure if they should.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿฑ: ๐—™๐˜‚๐—น๐—น ๐—–๐—ถ๐—ฟ๐—ฐ๐—น๐—ฒ

Winter came. Emma had a gallery show. Daniel sent her a signed copy of his new book, with a note that simply said, โ€œStill inspired by you.โ€

One evening, they sat in her studio, sipping wine, surrounded by unfinished canvases and old memories.

โ€œWe donโ€™t have to force anything,โ€ Emma whispered.

โ€œIโ€™m not trying to,โ€ Daniel replied. โ€œIโ€™m justโ€ฆ here. If you want me.โ€

She smiled. โ€œLetโ€™s not make promises. Letโ€™s just try again. As we are. Now.โ€

They didnโ€™t need the fairytale ending. They had already lived the real partโ€”the love, the loss, the longing.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to begin again.

13/08/2025

๐—ง๐—ถ๐˜๐—น๐—ฒ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ช๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜ ๐—ช๐—ฎ๐—ถ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฑ
_________

She gave him every chanceโ€”until she had none left for herself.

In a quiet seaside town, Lina lives like the windโ€”gentle, forgiving, and always moving around the edges of violence. Her partner, Marcus, battles inner storms that spill into their home, leaving bruises where apologies canโ€™t reach. But each morning, before the world wakes, Lina walks to the cliffs where the breeze never asks her to shrink.

When one night pushes her too far, Lina is forced to choose: keep chasing hope through a storm that wonโ€™t breakโ€”or become the storm herself.

The Wind That Waited is a hauntingly poetic tale of resilience, release, and the quiet power of walking away.

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿญ: ๐—” ๐—ช๐—ต๐—ถ๐˜€๐—ฝ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐—•๐—ฒ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐˜๐—ต ๐—ง๐—ต๐˜‚๐—ป๐—ฑ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ

The house was always quiet before the storm.

Lina moved carefully around the kitchen, memorizing the creak in each floorboard. A dropped spoon, a slammed drawer โ€” anything could be a trigger. He would be home soon. The calm before his rage always made her heart beat louder than any shouting ever could.

Marcus hadnโ€™t always been this way. Once, heโ€™d held her gently, told her she was the only thing keeping him together. But now his hands only knew how to shake her, push her, silence her with fire in his eyes.

Yet each time he said sorry, his voice cracked like a broken boyโ€™s. And she โ€” soft as wind and just as unseen โ€” would forgive him again.

She told herself he was trying.

She told herself she had to stay.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿฎ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—š๐—ถ๐˜ƒ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด ๐—•๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฒ๐˜‡๐—ฒ

Lina had a secret: every morning, just before dawn, she walked to the cliffs behind their house. The breeze there knew her name. It touched her cheeks like love without expectation.

She would sit, wrapped in a sweater and silence, watching the sky change its mind. In those brief moments, she felt like someone who could leave, someone who had somewhere to go.

She had given Marcus five second chances. Ten. Maybe more. Heโ€™d cried into her lap, punched walls instead of her โ€” as if that was progress. She believed in the version of him that might come back.

But each apology faded quicker than bruises.

Still, like the breeze chasing leaves, she returned. Hoping this time would be different. Hoping kindness could soften fury.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿฏ: ๐—ฆ๐˜๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—บ ๐—ช๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด๐˜€

The worst fight came on a Tuesday.

She had burned the rice. That was it. Nothing more.

Marcusโ€™s voice cracked open the walls, then his hand found her shoulder. She hit the ground, tasting copper, and for the first time, she didnโ€™t cry. She stared at him like a stranger.

He backed away, muttering apologies, calling himself names.

And this time, she didnโ€™t forgive.

She walked past him, through the door, into the wind.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿฐ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—–๐—น๐—ถ๐—ณ๐—ณ ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—–๐—ต๐—ผ๐—ถ๐—ฐ๐—ฒ

Lina stood at her cliff the next morning, a purple bruise blooming below her collarbone. The breeze caught her hair and tangled it gently. It didnโ€™t ask questions. It didnโ€™t say โ€œbut he loves you.โ€

It simply stayed.

She remembered the first time Marcus had shouted โ€” how small she had felt. How sheโ€™d decided then to make herself smaller still, to stay safe.

But the breeze was not small. It roared across the cliffs. It kissed the sea like it belonged there.

And for the first time, Lina wondered what it might feel like to stop waiting for him to changeโ€ฆ and start changing herself.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐Ÿฑ: ๐—ช๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—ป ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ช๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐—Ÿ๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐˜€

She didnโ€™t pack much โ€” just what fit in a duffel and her own steady breath.

Marcus wasnโ€™t home when she left. That was a gift she hadnโ€™t expected.

At the bus station, she sat with her hands in her lap, waiting. The wind slipped through the open doors, swirling past her face like an old friend.

She smiled, just a little.

She was tired of giving all her warmth to someone who only burned her in return.

This time, she wasnโ€™t the breeze waiting to be noticed.

She was the storm leaving.

๐—ฃ๐—ผ๐—ฒ๐—บ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ฃ๐—ฎ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ฒ๐—ป๐—ฐ๐—ฒ ๐—ผ๐—ณ ๐—”๐—ถ๐—ฟ______The breeze runs soft through broken streets,Chasing shadows it hopes to meet.It whispers ...
13/08/2025

๐—ฃ๐—ผ๐—ฒ๐—บ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ฃ๐—ฎ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ฒ๐—ป๐—ฐ๐—ฒ ๐—ผ๐—ณ ๐—”๐—ถ๐—ฟ
______

The breeze runs soft through broken streets,
Chasing shadows it hopes to meet.
It whispers love to those who flee,
And cools the hearts that ought not be.

It spins through doors that wonโ€™t stay wide,
Brushes past those who only hide.
It lifts the leaves, it sways the treesโ€”
An endless giver, this weary breeze.

It lingers long where none will stay,
And gives its all, then fades away.
Each time it bends, it dares to trust,
Though every hand returns to dust.

Still, chance by chance, it dares to dance,
Through doors that never give a glance.
How long can wind give all, then grieve,
Before it learns it, too, can leave?

But onward still, it sighs and roams,
Searching for something that feels like home.
A kindness lost, a soul that seesโ€”
Not every heart deserves the breeze.

13/08/2025

๐—ง๐—ถ๐˜๐—น๐—ฒ: ๐—ช๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—ป ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ง๐—ถ๐—บ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด ๐—•๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐—ธ๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—›๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐˜
_________

They loved each other in every lifetime of their youthโ€”only to lose one another every single time.
Three times they tried.
Three times they broke.
Different cities. Different dreams. Always the wrong time.

Now, years later, theyโ€™re standing on opposite sides of foreverโ€”each once engaged to someone else, each still haunted by a love that never quite died.

When fate hands them one final chanceโ€ฆ
Will they have the courage to rewrite their ending, or walk away one last time?

โ€œWhen the Timing Breaks the Heartโ€
A story about love, timing, and the choice to stop running.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐—ข๐—ป๐—ฒ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—™๐—ถ๐—ฟ๐˜€๐˜ ๐—ฆ๐—ฝ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ธ

Rain fell in soft sheets the night Elara met Julian. Both were strangers, ducking into the same tiny bookstore cafรฉ in downtown Boston, their lives unknowingly set on a collision course. She was 24, chasing dreams in publishing. He was 26, a freelance photographer with a restless soul.

Their connection was immediateโ€”electric, chaotic, and beautifully unexpected. They dated for seven months, lived in each otherโ€™s skin, and spoke of distant countries and future babies. But then came the offerโ€”Elaraโ€™s dream job in London. Julian begged her to stay, but her dreams had waited too long.

โ€œI love you, but I have to go,โ€ she whispered through tears at Logan Airport. He didnโ€™t stop her.

First love, first loss.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐—ง๐˜„๐—ผ: ๐—”๐—ด๐—ฎ๐—ถ๐—ป, ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐—”๐—ด๐—ฎ๐—ถ๐—ป

Three years later, they met againโ€”this time in Paris. She was visiting for a conference; he was there on assignment. Their reunion was a blur of laughter, nostalgia, and passion too familiar to deny.

They tried again. For four months, they lived in the moment, convincing themselves that time had matured them. But Julian was offered a long-term expedition job across Asiaโ€”two years minimum.

Elara asked, โ€œCouldnโ€™t you say no this time?โ€

โ€œI said no last time. I lost you then. I canโ€™t lose myself now.โ€

Second try, second fall.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฒ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—”๐—น๐—บ๐—ผ๐˜€๐˜๐˜€ ๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—ž๐—ฒ๐—ฒ๐—ฝ

Another five years passed. Both were in New York. Both newly single. They collided at a wedding neither wanted to attend. The universe, ever teasing, brought them back into orbit. This time, everything felt right. They were settled, seasoned.

They promised no more ultimatums. They would make it work.

But life, cruel and ironic, had other plans. Elaraโ€™s father fell terminally ill. She moved back to Maine for over a year to care for him. Long-distance strained them. Misunderstandings widened the gap. When her father passed, Elara returned to find Julian distant, exhausted.

โ€œI canโ€™t do this anymore,โ€ he said.

She didnโ€™t stop him.

Third love. Third heartbreak.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐—™๐—ผ๐˜‚๐—ฟ: ๐—ฆ๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฑ๐—ผ๐˜„๐˜€ ๐—ถ๐—ป ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—Ÿ๐—ถ๐—ด๐—ต๐˜

Years passed. Elara got engaged to Liamโ€”a kind, steady architect who offered calm instead of chaos. Julian was also engagedโ€”to Sophie, an adventurous spirit much like his younger self.

They hadnโ€™t spoken in years until fate brought them together at a gallery opening in Brooklyn. He was exhibiting his work. She was there on a date. Their eyes locked across the room, and time folded in on itself.

Later, standing alone on the rooftop with city lights flickering below, Julian broke the silence. โ€œYou look happy.โ€

โ€œI thought I was,โ€ she replied. โ€œUntil I saw you.โ€

They talked all night. Not just about loveโ€”but about fear, loss, and the versions of themselves they lost chasing time.

They admitted it: the love never died. It just waited.

โธป

๐—–๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐—™๐—ถ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—–๐—ต๐—ผ๐—ถ๐—ฐ๐—ฒ

Now, a month later, they stand on the edge of everything. Both engagements called off, hearts laid bare. But the past lingers like a shadow. So many starts. So many ends.

They sit by the river, the silence thick with what-ifs.

Julian breaks it first. โ€œWhat if itโ€™s different this time?โ€

Elara shakes her head. โ€œWhat if we ruin each other again?โ€

He looks at herโ€”not with the eyes of a desperate lover, but with the quiet steadiness of a man whoโ€™s finally learned what love costs. โ€œThen at least we ruined each other honestly.โ€

She reaches for his hand. Their fingers fit like they always did.

And this timeโ€ฆ they didnโ€™t let go.

End.
Sometimes, the right people meet at the wrong time. But if love is real, time doesnโ€™t win. They do.

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