Matthew Pye shares insights with Subhashi Tania de Silva

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there is a strange science to you

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God the veins on your hands look like soft branching rivers I notice it without meaning to In the same way the brain notices danger before language arrives Automatic.  And I wonder if psychology has a name for this this quiet distortion of focus when beauty becomes data and data becomes feeling. Then your voice happens. You say my name. And something in my nervous system misbehaves. A glitch of chemistry dopamine maybe or something softer science hasn’t named properly yet Chills run through me like my body is trying to confirm that I am still inside myself Still here. It is almost funny In class I learn about attachment theory about reward pathways about how the brain builds meaning from repetition and attention But none of it explains why one person can feel like a signal that interrupts every system I built to stay balanced. So I sit there, diagnosed by my own attention That somehow you became both the subject and the experiment in the same breath I use to think about you. - Subh...
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that Saturday we became eternal Yes, I am that girl who loves the insane, dramatic kind of love the kind where feminine and masculine energies collide just by locking eyes. The clingy, “cringe-but-not-really” intimacy is my favourite where you can catch their scent simply by being near the things they used, especially their clothes… and you delay washing the places they touched because their presence still lives there. I love that look that moment when your eyes meet and you both laugh without saying a word, as if the joke travelled telepathically between two souls. And oh to make soup together on a random Saturday afternoon, your hands wrapped around me, sipping warmth and love at the same time that is the kind of intimacy I live for. -Subhashi Tania de Silva
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I Wonder

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I wonder... Can a woman in her 30s, unmarried and relentless, carve a space for herself in the world of architecture without losing pieces of who she is? You design skylines, draft blueprints of possibility, but where do you belong in the grand structure of life? You search for a soulmate in fleeting glances, in the way someone remembers your coffee order, in the silence that lingers just long enough to feel like home. But when they see the depth of your moods, the weight of your family’s history - do they stay? Can anyone truly hold space for the raw, unfiltered presence of your father, the past that shaped you? Maybe not. Maybe some will walk away. But love is not dead. Love is the quiet arrival in the middle of the storm. It’s the arms that hold you without needing explanations, the presence that doesn’t retreat when faced with your most unguarded reality. Love is not a promise of forever...it is the courage to stand still in the moment, without fear, without conditions. Piku...
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