Vinka's Library of Mind

  Scrolling through old tweets, old photos, old group chats… it’s like opening a little time capsule where everything felt lighter, more full of connection, and like life hadn’t scattered everyone yet. That’s kind of feeling is grief, in a quiet, tender kind of way. You're grieving how life used to be. And it makes sense. Back then, you probably weren’t thinking about responsibilities, future plans, or staying connected—because everything just was. Friends were near, laughter was easy, and the world felt more within reach. As we grow up, people drift. Life paths split off in quiet ways. It doesn’t mean those friendships didn’t matter—they did. They shaped you. And even if they faded, the joy you felt back then was real, and yours forever. You’re not broken for missing what was. You’re human. Tender-hearted. Nostalgic. And that’s a beautiful thing. Realizing that life doesn’t always separate people with big, dramatic goodbyes. Sometimes it’s just distance, time, priorities shifting ...

Oh, how it feels to be someone’s muse—to live in their thoughts, to move their hands in art, to be the reason beauty takes form To exist not just in their world, but in their work—their sketches, their melodies, their quiet thoughts between moments. There’s something timeless about that kind of presence, something unspoken and golden. Like Camille Monet did for Claude Monet. There’s something beautiful about inspiring art simply by being loved, and I hope one day, I can be that source of beauty and emotion for someone too. I want to be remembered in brushstrokes and feeling. To be looked at the way an artist sees their favorite subject—not for perfection, but for the way light falls across your face, for the way your silence says everything. I want to be the color that changes with the seasons in someone’s painting. To be loved so deeply, so gently, that their hands cannot help but create. What a beautiful kind of immortality that is. —vic