Words. I keep them locked inside my head, where they multiply and grow. They never stop. My thoughts – dark clouds and smoke, thick enough to make me choke. I think, and through the words I birth I bring myself to tears. Continue reading A Somewhere Safe
The sky was white, the city blurred by the fog. I didn’t know where to go or what to say to myself. I went to the shopping mall on a Monday afternoon with no reason to be there, except to just walk around and stare at the people, to do something other than what I usually do. I came back to an empty flat with … Continue reading 5/11/18
Hello? Are you alone?
Because of you, I wasn’t.
Words. All we had were words; ones I tried not to remember, ones I tried to throw away.
Sometimes I still see your face in my dreams, asking:
Who are you now? Continue reading Are You Alone?
I read my book in the bath. Candlelight and a dripping tap. Someone screams outside. I try very hard not to be here, focusing on words that don’t belong to me. If I just stay afloat… I don’t want to move and I don’t want to stay. For now, I try not to think about your hand on my back and the way you … Continue reading Bathwater
Grey walls stare as I mourn the door never opened, the flight never boarded, the trip never taken, the room never stayed in, the streets never walked on, the memories never made. Continue reading Grey
The shadows move across the wall and I must follow. Continue reading Following the Shadows
I’ve been waiting for the moon. Still, when it peeks from behind the buildings, it almost comes as a surprise. The whole world is looking up. Somehow, I feel like the last person on earth.
I have missed so many moments. I have written so many things out of my memory – lost, never to be restored.
If time is fluid, I think I’m drowning. Continue reading The Blood Moon
To live is to rock in a hammock, to run your fingers across the pages of a book, to know the sound of a squirrel making its way down a tree. Continue reading Now
I went for a ride on my bike: the sun in my face, the smell of grass, the sounds brought by the wind. So many things rushing at me. What do I do with all of this? Then, a voice: Just remember it. Continue reading 12/08/18
I don’t bleed like I used to.
The words don’t come out in floods, making puddles on the floor, splashing red onto the walls of the dark room – the crime scene where I was both the criminal and victim. I’ve become the victim of my inaction, unable to open up those old wounds and bleed again. Continue reading I Don’t Bleed Like I Used To