it’s been two years.

i kissed a guy the day after you broke up with me,

a vain attempt to hide the pain.

i told him something was bothering my eyes,

but the tears were for you.

i thought it would get better with time,

so i slept with random guys,

and i kissed with even more.

i became an expert at creating an alibi for tears.

as much as i tried to,

the alcohol only numbed my mind,

not my heart.

as much as i longed to,

love was always mocking me

with your eyes.

they told me they loved me,

and as i said it back

i imagined that you were here

instead of strangers.

it’s been two years.

but every time something funny or sad or happy happens,

the first thing on my mind is to tell you.

and then i realize.

you aren’t here

anymore.

i love you,

but just like with all my lovers,

i am beginning to realize our love

was one sided.

come with me, darling,

to the soft rivers.

the water has always been

my favorite alibi for my tears,

and the dandelions' fluff always

kiss the scars on my body.

come with me, darling,

to the meadows of serenity

away from our lives of chaos and confusion and hurt.

i don't remember when i discovered

this sweet purgatory.

but i find myself here in recovery after

the most painful moments.

come with me, darling.

this is my home now.

not the loud cities,

but this haze,

this quiet.

come with me, darling,

till the end.

1 small escape. She's convinced that it won't stick.

But if she tries and if it works, the day would go better with it.

2 days after that, she wants to again. She knows she shouldn't, but just one more and that will be the end.

3 rules she makes to keep it under control: Only one and once a day, don't let anyone know.

4 weeks later it's an everyday thing. She tells herself it isn't wrong, because it helps her breathe again.

5 months now, with no plans to let it go. She depends on it, and still has never told.

6 months after that somebody found out. How many? They ask, and she says too many to count.

7 weeks that she's under their eyes but, when you need something that much you somehow still find time

8 weeks since they saw, now they figure she's clean.

It was stupid to begin with, so surely she wouldn't do it again.

9 months later, she hasn't skipped a day, but is starting to wish she had another way.

10 months and she tries to start to let go. Once a week, then less, then; when the last time was, she doesn't know.

11 months later and another year has gone by. She doesn't know if she can keep going without it but promises him she'll try.

12 months more and she decides to give up. She needs help, or needs something. And she knows what will work.

13 seconds and then it's over. Those past 3 years undone. Her hands are shaking, head is pounding. No way she can stop at one.

14 breaths she counts. Slow, deep, and measured. But all that's left is craving, she has no more willpower.

15 minutes later she looks at what she's done. Relief and disappointment wash over her at once.

Crimson red spilled in the sink, imaging frustration, and as if she's taken a sedative, comes a calm, placid sensation.

She knows that this will never be a fix for all her problems. But she'd do anything for just a day where she could forget about them.

She's like the silence before a storm, the stretch of the desert, depth of the deep blue sea. She's the wilderness of the forest, the mystery of space. She's magic, she's art. She’s perfect yet flawed. She’s aesthetic, spellbinding and everything in between. She's the euphoria you feel when you are high, the escape you need when you are low. She's flame that lights up your cigarettes, the enthralling smoke that leaves your lips. Give her love and she'll devote her soul to you. Take her for granted and she'll rip open a void within you.

you always promised you’d come back.

always whispering in my ear,

i’ll never leave.

so righteous, i thought you were.

so where did you go?

when i was breaking, where did you go?

where were you?

i’m the quiet girl, but not

the one you read about in stories.

i’ll never be the one he sits next to one day at lunch;

i’ll never drop my books and blush as he helps me pick them up in the hallway;

i’ll never be the one to act confused so that he’ll have to tutor me in the dark nights.

i’m the quiet girl that no one pays attention to.

i’m the one that gossips with the teachers at lunch,

that listens to the crazy politics as i walk down the school halls,

that studies with friends in the evenings.

so no, i’m not the quiet and quirky and cute girl in the stories,

and he’ll never talk to me.

but that’s okay.

i never did need a boy to make me smile,

anyway.

'The delicate green shoots grew

in the warm spring sunlight.

A vibrantly beautiful hue

spread across the new pink flowers.

The scent of mown grass and dry earth

bakes in the warmth of the sun.'

The book is snapped shut with a dry, rustling sound. Despite the vivid description, I can't visualise this lively world. All that I can see out of the window is a barren bleakness of rocks, and nothing even suggests that life would have been able to survive out there, once upon a time . . . and as I imagine the beauty and the splendour of nature that once existed I wonder how the extinction of life was ever allowed to happen.

i sleep alone

i dream alone

i wake alone

i eat alone

i run alone

i shower alone

i work alone

but i am not

lonely

You told me you loved me,

and that you were sorry.

I did not believe you,

and yet could not leave you.

With each kiss you burned,

and wounds to scars turned.

I cherished the pain,

like loving the rain.

It’s beautiful, indeed,

but what you don’t see

is that all of a sudden,

you’re broken.

i don’t want to be someone who writes in pencil and eats too slowly and walks with eyes that are glued to the sidewalk and tops of strangers’ feet. i’ve been underwater for so long that i’ve forgotten lungs are meant to be filled with air, exhaling seems more like something found on the second star on the right, rather than a process that is meant to be done twenty-three thousand times a day. i feel like an old woman who looks in the mirror and all she can see are wrinkles and white hair and tired eyes and the absence of who she used to be. but i’m not someone who turns away from sunsets and pretends that darkness is all i’ve ever known; someone who thinks the sun will never rise again. because the sun will rise again - the words hiding inside of me will find their way out, because i cannot hold my breath forever. i am not someone who writes in pencil and erases the bits that are too honest and too imperfect and too real to claim as thoughts of my own. i cannot keep my lips pursed and hands tied behind my back, i cannot keep pretending i am shadow of who i used to be. my tomorrows hold suns much brighter than the ones that have risen over the horizons of my past; i have not reached the summit yet. there is so much more me for me to become. each day, i am new.