november 19

you said hello to me after two years of silence. it was like a dream, i guess; on good days i know it was real, that it happened, that you saw my name in your phone and decided, oh what the hell, it’s time to say hello. on the worst of days it becomes a dream, a fleeting fantasy where i dream of you slipping quietly into my chats that one night at two am, a simple hello before we could say goodbye. on the worst of days, on the normal days, i think of it as a regret: that it happened, we talked, i met your soul and heard your thoughts, and on a later-deemed-foolish whim i decided that i could set those words aside until we talked again.

(“you know i only come here because of you.”)

sometimes i wonder if you were even real. if you had really hugged me in your tiny arms five years ago, babbling about my long hair and how you wished to bun it, how i looked like i’d woken to the tunes of death’s violin with how deep my dark circles were. i wonder if i’d really held your hands that time, looking for scars i knew you’d hide, anger and helplessness clawing wounds into my gut when i realised i didn’t know how to help. and how you looked at me — was that real? how you’d looked at me with all the hope and admiration that i didn’t deserve, told me with utmost confidentiality the secrets you wouldn’t dare to breathe to anyone else? you’re the first person to know about this, and it’s a sick twist of flattery and guilt that i didn’t know how to manage at fifteen, an arm slung around your shoulders as i tried to be the person you thought me to be. i trust you, i trust you, i trust you,

even when i’d failed you.

(“i told myself that if you didn’t reply in five minutes, it was a sign to do it. but then you did, and to be honest i still feel like i should, but for you, i won’t.”)

you said hello to me after two years of silence. you’d changed, i’d changed. you were quieter, more mellowed down from the raging, untameable whirlpool that youth put the best of us through. you were a wave, now feisty with a purpose, stopping by my name to say hello. is that you? you’d asked when i was seconds away from sleep, and on good days i felt that i’d woken up and replied; and on the worst of days the hello was the start of my dream.

it felt like we were in school again, laughing about our lives and what those foolish enough to stick by us were doing. you let me know about your friends. i told you about mine. in that hour you told me i miss you twice — i still wonder if it’s a mistake that i’d only replied that once. i could you hear you giggling, could hear the roll of your eyes when you said i’d never change. and it’s a regret now that i don’t remember the rest of the conversation, only how it ended, because i didn’t think to commit to memory what i would later know as the last time i crossed roads with your soul.

you know what, you said, it’s almost 3am.

it was great talking to you,

but i’m going to sleep now.



you slept before I could say goodnight, and again before i could say goodbye.


x’s and x’s

—and I wish I were someone else,
someone who didn’t spend their time picking apart the scars on your hands and imagining the stories behind them, carving their places into my mind so that even when you’re long gone from me I can still close my eyes and know where they are. maybe your next soulmate will see them and appreciate them, but no one could ever know them as intimately as I knew them—as I knew you, strange and intoxicating, littered scars all over as the only windows into your soul.

you knew that I’d make a map of you, so that even when you’re no longer, I’d still find my way back to you.



but I heard you, in my dreams, in a fraction of your breath where you let slip the icy steel bite you’ve always been smothering under pained smiles. and I wonder when you’d started the game of charades, this pantomime in which you’re the only one laughing. but you know as well I do that in truth, it’s always been doomed to end in tragedy, but sonnets and stages made it seem like we’d win. it’s funny, the whole thing you’d said about trust, when in the end you were the trojan horse hiding in disguise, and I was besieged troy broken and burnt.

there is no sadder exeunt than yours.


They told the sand not to love the sea.

Dark, wild waves that can never be tamed-
They are too harsh for your gentle soul.
And you know this.
Everyday, ferocious waters crash into your shore,
Never minding, never seeing.
You know.

Angry, so angry; sometimes you forget that
The depth of his being is not flame.
He ravages the shoreline whenever he chooses.
And you know this.
Everyday, he upturns the seashells and pearls,
and leaves you nothing but a mess.
Never caring, never bothering.
You know.

Mysterious, alluring; you understand every person
Who comes to you to see him.
He brings with him chaos, destruction-
-but also intrigue, and beauty.
And you know this.
Everyday, as the sea tides calm,
You tidy your sands and polish your shells.
You line up the shoreline and hold your breath.
Never minding, never sighing.
You know.

Black waves come crashing into your soul.
He doesn’t see you.
He glances back, looking, searching,
wondering at your voice.
But you are only small castles, half ruined and half gone,
and he was an ocean too mighty for your shore.

And you know this.

Thundering seas go back to the moon.
The shoreline whispers a soft goodbye.

They told the sand not to love the sea.
You know this.
You know.

Note: I’m back on wordpress, everyone!! 


it has been three hundred and thirty six days since I last held your hand.

there is bitterness laced in the tears at nightfall, when solitude arrives in the ghostly chill of a space next to me on a bed too big. I wonder if you understand. what is living when its purpose is dead? what is my breath when it could have been yours?

jagged breaths, sharp and painful. the lungs claw for air in a world much too sad for you. there is a fixed demise and a predetermined length of days I have accepted on with which to accept your passing. forever sounds foolish-

-to the soul that has never loved. at a far point in time, three hundred and thirty seven days ago, that would have been me.

like a whirlwind, you upturned my entire world and left,

and i am in ruin because

and without


solar energy

“But what does it matter? I’m always second best anyway.”

“My dear, everyone wants to be the sun. No one wants to be a tiny star. But it’s this tiny star that accompanies us at night, when all is dark and unforgiving. Where is the sun, the brightest star? Darling, you are better than the best because you light up in the dark.

And I would pick you over any other star in the universe.”