Why must I fall in love with everyone who looks me in the eye and says my name slowly, letting it dance over their tongue first?
When they touch my waist and I can still feel the weight of their hand hours later.
They say the heart skips a beat but it’s more like you opened my chest and took it, saying “this is mine now.”
I feel like someone’s pried open my chest with a crowbar. They’ve broken in and taken everything that matters and all I’ve been left with is this hollow shell.
These words are smudging. Am I crying? I don’t know anymore.
Does form follow function? If I look okay will I be okay?
Or should I bleed publicly, standing on a pedestal in the middle of town peeling off layer by layer of skin, with a sign around my neck saying, “this is who I am. please still love me.”
someone saying “I was hoping to see you” will make your day. so say it to others as well
life is too short for a bad cup of tea or burnt toast. make it again
you will learn a lot about yourself when travelling alone. it is freeing and necessary but you will also realise how integral companionship is. having to take your suitcase into the bathroom cause there’s noone to watch it will start to break your heart
there’s no such thing as soulmates. love is a choice
but choose to love a lot of people. surround yourself with them. learn to let them love you back
NB. only be in love with one person
seeing someone’s eyes light up when they see you is beautiful. it will break your heart when it stops
but you will be okay
A boy I was seeing would run without music and that terrified me. I wonder what it’s like not to be scared of your own thoughts.
I feel safest in galleries, airports, museums and on trains. The anonymous, in-between places.
I broke off a leaf cause it was soft and I liked the way it felt. Being broken made it hard. I’m trying not to read into it.
all I can think about is your hand on my thigh
and mine tracing patterns on your back.
it’s not you it’s me.
I’m sorry for everything.
Fitzgerald wrote about trying to emulate the past by recreating the exact environment in which something happened, and hoping it mimics itself precisely. Utilising nostalgia to recreate the simpler times.
Except your childhood wasn’t exactly that simple and your parents were actually struggling to make ends meet and were wondering if they could afford Christmas presents for the kids that year. The boy you thought liked you back actually liked someone else and just didn’t know how to break it to you, and the way those guys treated you at work wasn’t flattering but in hindsight a form of cruelty.
And no matter how many times you go over it you can’t figure out how you’re here, how you always end up here, alone on a Friday night, with nothing but a cup of tea and a book about space by your elbow. You take a Panadol for your headache but that only works on fevers and doesn’t help you come to terms with the fact that the Sun has a diameter of 1,392,684kms but that distance feels smaller than the space between you and the person you love.
People tell you that your time will come but they say it while sitting on the lap of their boyfriend and they forget that sometimes, just sometimes, people’s time never actually comes or if they do, they miss it because they were too busy looking up at the stars.
And no matter how you try to change deep down unfortunately you’re still you and there must be something about you that no amount of mascara or hair twirls can change; it’s still been five years since you’ve been on a date and it’s a thought that will always haunt you after the third glass of wine.
Jay Gatsby was chasing a thing in his past that was better than his future but still not everything he ever wanted, and it makes you sad when people say they don’t like the novel because they have what you don’t.
some days and nights i treat my apartment like a therapist. walking up and down the long hallway, or quietly fidgeting on the lounge, voicing all of my thoughts and problems, my questioning of the universe and why it is the way it is. i’ll laugh and i’ll cry and i’ll crack open my chest and lay everything out, spilling out every part of me saying here it all is. but my voice just echoes back at me saying honey there’s no one here we have to put this back together ourselves.