Midnight. 

It’s late, and I’m still thinking about you.

​”I am addicted.
She is my bottle of vodka.
She is my cookie crumbs.
She is the eighth colour of my rainbow.
The colour that’s everywhere,
Except inside the rainbow.
She is my three A.M.
The three A.M. pain I write about,
And the three A.M. calls I don’t make.
She is my happy ever after.
The happy ever after in a fairytale,
In those tales for my three A.M. kid,
In those stories for my four A.M. demons,
In those lullabies for my five A.M. drowsy eyes.
She is my sushi.
She is my ‘one eyelash – one wish’.
She is my 11:11 ‘Wish, please come true’.
She is my cigarette.
Here’s the fucking problem.
I’m addicted.
And she’s my nicotine patch.”


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What were we like?

We were like two phrases lost in translation. We made perfect sense in a language that I spoke and not at all in the language you knew.
We were like two stars that almost seemed to be touching, but were light years away. You wouldn’t know if I collapsed before it was too late.
We were like two dominoes, stacked against each other. If you fell, I’d fall with you.
We were like an eclipse. When we were together, I saw you and they saw you, but no one could see me.
We were like champagne, perfect for fancy occasions only.
We were like two halves of a broken heart. We could complete each other but we didn’t really fit.
We were like two coins, that made a lot of noise together but had lesser value apart.
We were like two nights, one darker than the other. But both still, silent, and calm.
We were like magic. I thought we were real, but you called it an illusion.
We were like two flowers blooming to be beautiful alone, but we had a stronger fragrance together.
We were beautiful. But I guess only I see it this way. Because we were like two pairs of eyes always seeing things differently.


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Hope and caution. 

“If only you knew how terrified I am.” – Unknown

I’m the pieces of a puzzle no one wants to solve. Not even me. Why would I when it will only make an abstract image that makes no sense? Why would I when I’ve been told time and time again by my own heart that I am not worth it, that I am not good enough?

Fears reside in the darkest corners of our minds. They’re the monsters I fight. The demons I try to contain. They’re my invasions. I know I’m not perfect, and I know no one is, but I’m just a tad bit more imperfect than you, and that just haunts me.

I don’t know what makes me imperfect, but something does and I’m pretty sure people get annoyed when I talk too much about it. Every time I say something, I’m afraid that soemthing will go wrong. Every word of mine is wrapped in hope and caution.

I’m afraid. I’ve always been. And so when I’m asked about my story, I just smile like it’s no big deal and ask them to repeat theirs for the thousandth time, and I find joy in the subtle changes in the story that they make to make it more memorable and perfect. Every time they speak about scars, I close my eyes and feel the skin under my sleeves tingling with sensations of blood and pain. I smile and talk about how beautiful they look in their crop tops and funky hats. Every time I burst with excitement and say something stupid, I stay quiet and regret it for the rest of the day. Everytime I have a story to tell, or a new hobby to show, or just want someone, I just listen to music and find my solace in the pretty words and crazy beats.

Every time I am at a party, I dance a little softly and eat not at all, because I want to be invited the next time too. Every time they crack a joke that I don’t understand, I laugh anyway because I’m sure I’ll understand the next one. Every time someone shares their food, I ask twice and then confirm one last time before having the smallest piece I can find, and saying Thank you. I want to have more, but I wait for them to offer.

I dont have a best friend. Unless you consider 234 pages of a white notebook that I carry with me everywhere a friend. I don’t write diaries because I don’t understand the idea behind it. But I do write poetry which reflects my life as a beautiful world and me as a happy being. But sometimes, it’s sad and just not good enough. Quite like me.

They call it Atelophobia.


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Always?

I had to choose
you or me
I chose you.
You had to choose
you or me
You chose yourself
So we loved you twice
and me not at all.
You left me anyway.
You left me
devastated
and empty.
Another came along.
I had to choose
Her or me
I chose me.
She had to choose
Her or me
She chose herself
We left each other anyway
Devastated
and empty.
You came back.
And I chose you again.
Always, I guess.


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Snow.

“We are like a snowflake. All different in our own little way.” – Unknown

  1. She wasn’t the perfect six-fold symmetry crystal. She had four white feathers spread throughout unevenly. She wasn’t a Polaroid. But she was what made you believe that you could be beautiful anyway. So when she walked towards him wearing a dress with flip-flops, no mascara and a messy bun, he fell in love. That was it. Love at first sight or whatever. He saw her and he just did. She was beautiful. She had small eyes, and a wide smile. She walked with heavy strides but her touch was soft. She was a beautiful paradox wrapped in glitter that spread.
  2. He was the ice crystal that you see in the pictures. Perfectly symmetrical and totally adorable. He had messy hair, the kind you want to play with. And deep eyes that you could look into and feel alive. His voice was music. He was the kind of guy that would hold the door open for you. He was perfect, really. Except he wasn’t for her. He had the perfect walk, and the right jokes up his sleeves, and long drives waiting for her. But it wasn’t it. He was the six-fold, and she wasn’t. Heart-break took a feather off, maybe.
  3. It was a six-fold. Because you know, dogs always are. So when I picked him up, and cradled him like a baby for the first time, I couldn’t help but name him Snow. “Woof”

A small letter for Santa from me. I have been naughty and it was worth it.

Merry Christmas. ∞


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