(i) I don’t know how to stop being afraid, How to stop allowing fear to consume the cracks Of the place, we call home I’m afraid one day, They will crumble the walls that keep us safe (ii) I don’t know how to love you Not quite in the way that I think you deserve … Continue reading Seven Things I mean When I Tell You “I’m Sorry”
Today, in this very brief yet very important (only because it contributes to my procrastination before midterms) post, I am going to tell you something about myself that any guy or girl that wants to me take me out on a date should know (not that there are many of you). Todays world is constantly … Continue reading Tea or Coffee? Both.
I have a confession to make, I am a hoarder. Of books that smell like they landed on my doorstep after years of collecting stories from people I will never know. Of memories that scream at me from rooftops, telling me that sometimes, I remember you with more fondness than I did when you were … Continue reading Confessions
To the woman who finds her heart in empty alleys and broken doorways too often; i. When men tell you that they want to wrap their drunken slurs around your fragile body. Tell them that you are no ones present or dream. You are a warrior. A hopeless romantic slaying the dragons of pseudo relationships … Continue reading To the woman who finds her heart in empty alleys and broken doorways too often;
“The past few days have been nothing short of mundane and dull. I’ve been stuck in the hospital for fourteen days and I’m not getting any better, my dad says that it’s still a good thing because I’m not really getting worse either. My body is just stagnant. There’s only so many movies one can … Continue reading Excerpts from Unsent Letters and Unfinished Thoughts
People can start to feel like a distant memory; folded away between an old copy of wuthering heights. You know the kind. They start to resemble drunken nights, The events of the past begin to shape-shift into distorted images and blurs. Only sometimes, you don’t want to wake up with no recollection of what went … Continue reading Diaries of an alcoholic
On an eerie winter morning, a child tiptoed his way to my lost self, he perched himself beside me on a lone park bench. He seemed to be five or six years old at most as he peered into the book before continuing, “What colour is the sky?” He asks with such innocence that it … Continue reading 02 November 2017;