Weather of My Heart

I collect little pieces of wonder and turn them into words.

Somenings, my heart feels like early spring. Everything inside me reaches toward light before I'm even fully awake. Other days, it is overcast in ways no weather report could predict. I smile, make tea, do my things, answer messages and carry little storms that never make a sound. Sometimes the weather of my heart feels like spring. And think it has always been that way. My name, Phaguni, was given to me by my grandfather. It means spring and also comes from the month of Phagun in the Hindi calendar. Those who are from India probably know it. Sometimes I wonder if my heart has quietly carried the meaning of my name all along. And yet, spring is never the only weather my heart and I know.

The weather inside my heart changes more than it ever used to. Sometimes it changes within a single day. A little sunlight. A little mist. A quiet breeze that comes without asking. It isn't always something I can explain, but I feel more connected to it now than I did before.

Doesn't it sounds much more familiar? This season heart is not something that I invited, nor is it something I tried to get rid of. I don't know, but it just stays. And lately, I don't want to solve its misty clouds or windy moods anymore. It's all so natural. It comes in the middle of the day and tries to teach me something I'm not ready for. And even if I try to conclude it, I don't think I can. It is just like that.

For the longest time, I wanted to understand every feeling that visited me.

I wanted to know where it came from, why it stayed, and where it was leading me. I thought every emotion carried an answer, and it was my responsibility to find it.

But some feelings are too fragile to confront.

Some feelings are as delicate as morning mist. The moment we try to hold them too tightly, they disappear. The moment we rush to define them, they lose the quiet truth they were carrying. So I have stopped asking my heart to make perfect sense. I sit beside it instead.

Nothing because they are scary or I'm scared to admit, but now I'm admitting itself because they are delicate.

Sometimes, they feel like a shadow soft enough to make me feel calm, yet dark enough to make me notice the light inside my own heart. Other days, I feel like that light is coming from me, as if I have quietly become the sun of my own little world.

I don't know how else to explain it. These feelings don't have names. I can only feel them.

And maybe you can relate to them too, because perhaps you have felt something like this yourself.

Sometimes, it feels like standing by the window after everyone has gone home. Sometime, feels like holding water in my hands, knowing it will eventually flow through my fingers and find its own way home. And here I am, standing with wet hands, knowing it was never meant to stay forever.

For some time, I wanted to see where all of this would go. I kept waiting for a conclusion, for clarity, for the day everything inside me would finally make sense. But now, I don't think I want to get over it anymore. I want to live with it.

There is a quiet kind of courage in allowing your heart to remain a mystery for a little while.

This weather of my heart never announces itself with a warning. It simply arrives, quietly changing the sky within me. Instead of asking it to leave, I want to understand it in those moments where I discover myself a little more clearly.

And that is what growing looks like.

The gentlest parts of us are often the ones that teach us how to stay. And I no longer ask every cloud to become sunshine. Some are beautiful simply because they pass.

And what about you?
Have you ever had a season in your heart that you couldn't understand? One you kept trying to get over until, one day, you simply decided to live with it instead?

I don't think this feeling has become lighter over time. I think we becomes gentler with it.

Now, I want to understand it more than I want to solve it.

Now don't want feel it like solving a puzzle and more like learning the language of someone I have loved all my life but never truly listened to.

I am trying becoming more patient with myself, more aware of the quiet ways my heart speaks and more willing to listen without asking it to explain everything. There is something peaceful about that.

Sometimes, I want to speak to my heart and simply listen to it, the way you would listen to the tiny wings of a hummingbird like small, alive, always in motion and also not because it has all the answers, but because it reminds me that even the smallest things can carry so much life.

Once, I thought it was only a tiny lightbulb flickering inside me. Now, it feels more like a firefly. A small light that carries its own quiet magic into the darkness. I want to protect that light.

I think I want my heart to be like that. Not louder or brighter. Just more sacred. I want to keep this heart sacred nothing like because it is perfect but because it is honest enough to feel deeply.

A place I return to with kindness instead of questions. A place I protect instead of trying to fix.

And if you are someone who feels too much, I hope you know that feeling deeply is not something you need to apologize for. You can feel everything and still be okay. You can let your feelings arrive, stay for a while, and leave without forcing them to become lessons before they are ready.

Now I know that when people sit quietly, they are not always doing nothing. Sometimes, they are simply having long conversations with their own hearts. I used to think I was the only one who could spend hours inside my own mind and heart, trying to understand feelings that never came with words. But now, when someone grows quiet, I wonder what kind of weather they are carrying within them. It makes me a little kinder, because we are all listening to something that no one else can hear.

I think more of us carry these unnamed seasons than we realize. We just don't always have the words to tell each other. Sometimes we only understand when they have quietly passed through us.

Perhaps that's the weather of the heart.

It changes. It surprises us. It carries seasons we cannot always name. It asks us to trust skies we cannot always read.

And the heart was never asking us to predict its weather. It was only asking us to stand beneath it with open hands, gentle eyes and enough courage to love every season it carries, even the ones we cannot explain but it belongs to us.

I think this whole weather of my heart is slowly becoming a place I no longer wish to escape. A place where I can quietly meet myself, again and again, without needing every feeling to introduce itself. And if one day the weather changes, I hope I welcome it the same way with curiosity, with kindness, and with the quiet trust that every season knows when it is time to bloom and when it is time to let go.

And I think some parts of us are meant to remain a little mysterious, so we never stop returning to them with wonder.

Perhaps that is enough. And perhaps it always was, and always will be.

I think I'll keep making a home beneath every sky my heart chooses to carry.

Happy reading 🌻