hello lovely people of tumblr, thanks a ton for stopping by at my blog <3
you can call me luna, i'm a college student who loves to write in her spare time. i mostly write poetry (bonus points if it's rhyming!!) and random blurbs about my life. as for me, i'm a hopeless romantic (emphasis on the hopeless part!!) and i love to listen to k-pop as well tho i'm not in any fandoms at the moment (my favs are stray kids, oneus, onewe, exid, aoa, and f(x)!!)
before you follow:
i'm bisexual so if you're homophobic dni
i write a lot of poetry and this is how i process my feelings so it may not seem coherent at the time
this is a safe space for me to express my thoughts and feelings, so any rude/insensitive comments will be deleted and you will be blocked
at the age of nineteen, i am yet to love someone who loves me back. and somehow, that feels embarrassing, though i know deep down that most people find partners due to chance, not due to effort. i've seen different kinds of love - but i want the kind of love which makes you feel lighter, not heavier; and it doesn't burn you up to keep loving them. i wish the way i loved didn't burn me up and make me cry tears of pain; it doesn't seem fair that people are in healthy, committed, loving relationships but i'm choking on heavy feelings that may not even be returned.
it feels unfair that no one that i've loved has loved me back. it feels unfair that it costs me energy, it costs me time, it costs me sanity to keep pouring and pouring into someone who doesn't even care about me that way. people say stop, reduce contact, as if i could ever forget. as if i could ever forget the fingerprints you left on my heart. as if i could ever forget the closeness born out of care and pain. as if i could ever forget how you pushed me to do the right thing. and i'm embarrassed. i'm embarrassed i let you see me at such a low point in my life. i'm embarrassed that you somehow put what puzzle pieces i gave you and formed a shrewd idea of what the context was.
what is love? i'm not sure myself, and i'm not even sure if i love you. all i know is i care for you more than i should, and i can't stop caring about you. because the truth is, so many people have taken advantage of me when i was vulnerable. it's easy to say the wrong thing. but even though you were stressed, you pushed me to do the right thing. you didn't make it about you and somehow saw me clearer than some of my closest friends. and that's more terrifying than being misread. how did you know my soft spots even though i never showed you? how did you know when to be gentle, gentler than a lot of people? god, i can't forget you. because in a world than romanticizes the harsh, you were gentle. gentler than you usually are. and that's why i can't just stop having feelings for you. i miss you so much and i don't know what to do.
The way i open a blank google doc and type out my feelings is painfully reminiscent of the way i used to cope; by writing stray kids fanfic on the samsung notes app. For what? To process my feelings for a girl i didn’t give myself full permission to love. For someone who bruised my heart so badly that i flinch at the next person who reminds me of her, anticipating the heartbreak. I guess what broke me wasn’t just the heartbreak. It was the way she chose to hurt me and chose lying over telling the truth.
and…the thing is, i didn’t quite think she’d be capable of doing something like this. People have said i am naive and see the best in people. And…that experience changed me. Since then, i haven’t let anyone in as much as i did her. People who don’t know me as well, even people i am close-ish to - they may say i’m guarded and that is true. Because what better way to protect your heart than building a fortress around it? What better way to protect than building sky-high walls with spikes on top of them? I thought if i isolated myself, no one could hurt me. That backfired rather spectacularly, if i do say so myself. And as i wandered, hungry for connection no one was ready to give, i found people who actually listened. The bar is in hell, but they were there for me. They were kind.
The thing nobody tells you about falling for someone is that you could fall for someone even when you’re not ready for it. Even when your heart is still hurt from the previous bruises. You see it happen in real time. You see the cliches of it all, how scripted it all seems, and you’re skeptical. But being bisexual doesn’t erase your attraction to men, and suddenly you’ve fallen again. It’s the same story, same patterns, same you, but a different person you fell for. And maybe you fell for him because deep down, he does remind you of her. And that’s the thing, right? There’s something holding you back from being fully honest with him about how she broke your heart because (a) you’re not sure how he’d react to gay shit and (b) it’s too much vulnerability on the line. At the same time, you say more than you planned around him. Your heart instinctively reaches for him, has put him as a safe person to trust even though he hasn’t proved it yet. And for someone as guarded as me, that’s fucking terrifying.
Different parts of me are engaged in tug-of-war - there’s a part of me who wants him - and there’s a part who pushes him away every time he gets too close - and there’s a part of me who’s embarrassed to like him and care as much as i do. And all three parts scream opposites every time i blink at him. It occurs to me why they call it being insecure. Because nothing you do will make you feel secure. And that’s the moment i realize this is bigger than one boy or one girl or myself. There’s a part of me that wants to tell him how she broke my heart. But it’s a lot to take in. so silence remains my best friend, as always. I don’t know what i’ll do, honestly. I don’t plan on telling him. Because i’m scared the same thing will happen again. I just hope i’ll survive this.
I guess it's time for my nightly worrying ritual. it's not even eleven pm, and I'm already a mess. and tomorrow won't be any less hectic. I dont know why I torture myself by scrolling through my friends' couple pics, knowing full well how insecure I feel. but god, I've never felt like that girl. the girl who guys see romantically. I've just been the girl guys feel threatened by.
as I look at myself in the mirror, I dont feel the self-loathing, but I feel a dull sense of nothingness. I wonder what is it in me that makes me invisible to men. I hate that I care so much. I feel starved for romantic attention in a buffet where everyone is well fed. I chose to choke on my feelings in the dark. but sometimes I hate it. it hurts no matter what I do. I miss you so much.
I say I'm okay with us being friends. and I am. but a part of me wants something more. and the scary part is wanting more when you've been scorched before. I want and want till it fogs up my breath as you run through my mind and I fall harder. the distance between us has hurt more than it helped - because now I miss you - not just because I like you - because I miss you, sky - the friend who showed up for me. every time I think of sunrises, I think of you.
God. I wish I'd worry about something like my grades, finals or getting an internship. instead, I'm worrying about a boy who may not even like me back while people my age are building relationships and futures. I hate that I miss you so much, sky.
why do I always fall for extroverts who suck at texting?
I don’t know how to start this. I would start it by saying I hope you’re well, but that would be wholly untrue. I know I need to be more assertive so I’ll start it instead by saying I hope you’re regretting what you did. I think a part of you does feel guilty - because why else would you try to slide into my dms when you saw our friend group posting pics without you? Just a ‘hi’, because saying more than that would mean you’d have to acknowledge how badly you fucked up. But you didn’t do that. You didn’t miss me - you missed how much i’d give and you only realized you fucked up when i was gone.
I was a sponge - I endured so much. You took my trust and threw it away. Did our friendship mean nothing for you to throw it away? What was your thought process behind being so cowardly? I would have forgiven you if you asked. But you fucked up and cut me off and left me to sit in the mess of my feelings, burning humiliation and then you come back a year and a half later, wondering if i’d take you back? I loved you. I loved you before I even knew what love could be - loved you before I even realized I gave myself to you in that way. I let you get away with so much. I should have questioned more. I agree that I was too milk-and-water - I let you push me around and hoped you’d be careful with my tender heart. I trusted you - and maybe that was my first mistake. I thought you’d be careful because you cared. But I wasn't selfish enough to see that you caused me too much damage. But on some nights when I feel lonely I still miss the conversations we had, texting until 2 in the morning before we had school the next day. I miss the way we’d snark about teachers, and the secrets and stories we shared. You were the first person I told that I was bisexual.
You knew so much about me - my scars and my mental health issues and you still hurt me. You kissed the brick before you threw it. You lost a friend group, but you still have people who make excuses for you. I got called too harsh for cutting you out. But being called harsh when I protect my peace is a price I'm willing to pay. God, it feels illegal to say that I miss you, but it’s true. You don’t forget when you click so well with someone. Maybe our hearts were cracked in the same places, but the difference between us is that I turn the hurt inwards and you turn it outwards.
I wish I could commit to one emotion - hate or love - but it’s really more complicated than that. No matter how much I say I hate you - a part of me still loves you. And somehow, that’s more terrifying than hate. How can you be so hurt by someone yet still have a soft spot for them? The worst part is that there’s a part of me that would let you into my life just to feel something again. I go against that part, but it still exists. Because at the end of the day, I'm just a girl with a broken heart. I hide that part of me because people are seldom kind when they see someone hurting. I act like I hate you because it’s easier than saying I felt something. I act like you cutting me off didn’t affect me. I say “trust issues” when people ask why I’m so guarded. It’s a half-truth. It’s easier than recounting this entire story head to tail. Queer heartbreak is less visible, especially if you were never dating. The erasure hits hard. And I freak out when the next person I like has traces of you - assertive to a fault, headstrong, confident, blunt and emotionally unavailable. He’s not you, but i find myself bracing for the moment he’ll break me the way you did. I leaned on him the way i’d lean on you, and then pulled back like i’d been electrocuted. But that’s another story.
I hope you realize you fucked up and understand the pain you put me through. I wish you’d stop lurking at the periphery and fuck off cause girl…what you did was too little too late.
"I'll never cry because I know that it'll never change"
-scars, stray kids, 2021
It’s been one year, six months and twenty-eight days. And i know that i’m not that scared sixteen year-old girl; nor am i the frustrated eighteen year-old who didn’t know any other ways to inscribe her pain. But god, it’s always so easy. It’s so easy to start again what you finished years ago. I know I'm stronger than this - that I'm not just the pain I so vividly feel. But I feel sixteen again, when my i-don’t-care mask was just a facade to hide a girl who was scared shitless. A self-hatred so powerful I could only inscribe the shards of self-blame into cuts on my thighs. It was so easy, a pink razor drawing bright red blood. They said I was always a bright student, what happened to me now? The red that pooled in the shower was brighter than the smile that I wore like a mask. It was brighter than I used to be in classes. I act like I can't see them - the crumbly purple bruises that faded to faint scars where I used to inscribe my pain. But no pants can cover the hurt I went through. No smile can hide the pain wholly. Not if it doesn’t reach my eyes.
And I know those days were years ago - the first time I'd cut - it was after an argument with my mom. Something about me not trying hard enough, neglecting my studies and her not able to hold the pain I came to her with. At the end of the day, you can’t change how someone sees you if they don’t want to see you any differently. But how could sixteen year-old me know that? I argued earnestly - because I cared. I argued earnestly - because I thought if I tried harder I could convince her. But I got no sympathy, no empathy - just misunderstanding and pain my mom didn’t process properly. I was sixteen, the girl who always smiled. The girl who hid her pain under a mask because she’d been told that it was too much. No one questioned what it cost me to keep smiling. And when my grades fell, so did my fragile sense of self-worth. I had no words - no medium - to express the pain and hopelessness I felt. Add to that falling in love with someone you can’t have and who you shouldn’t be loving - and of course the self-hatred that dysfunctional parenting built up in me - I was miserable. I hated myself. I wished I wasn't bisexual and didn’t feel so much.
It’s been four years since the first time I cut. But god, this scene feels like it was copy and pasted from four years back. Me snapping when my mom checks my grades. Not the wisest thing to do, all things considered. I can’t change her. But i’m nineteen, for fuck’s sake. I’m tired of being treated like a disobedient child. I snapped at her trying to defend my boundary. And that’s all it took. The thing is, my friends who went through the same shit advised me to keep quiet and then the screaming petered out. It’s easy to say, Luna, you should have shut the fuck up. And I did. I didn’t snap like I did when I was sixteen. I shut up, after I realized cutting remarks would just aggravate her further. I tried to put up the don’t-care mask again. But it was too little, too late. I kept tapping at the laptop as she stripped me to my worst insecurities and amplified them to the bone. The thing is, on the surface, everything seems fine. You wouldn’t be able to see how dysfunctional my family is in photos or chats. And I think that’s the worst kind of dissonance - the kind that masquerades itself as normal care when in reality it’s something much worse.
And I guess she’s won. Because she’s cracked my don’t care mask. Does she get a twisted kick out of seeing me cry? Why does she not fucking stop? I didn’t shed tears when she cut me down, but I've been told I'm easy to read. She insists she’s not my enemy, that she’s entitled to see my grades because of whatever reason. The thing is, I wouldn't hide my grades if she didn’t act all okay with them 90% of the time then use them to put me down in arguments. I guess she doesn’t remember how much she did that. But my mind and body remember. Luna, be more assertive. God, I’m trying. But how the fuck do you get the courage to be assertive when you’re torn down, by people who’re supposed to protect you, insecurity by insecurity when you do? I’m not the girl I was back when I was sixteen. I’m the future Vice-President of Education of my club. But the pain feels all too familiar. I hate hiding shit, sneaking around and doing all this. But it’s not like she gave me a choice. She doesn’t even know the real me - she only loves the image she yearns to protect. Because what good is public support if it turns sour the moment i don’t abide by what she says? What good is conditional love?
She’s told me that I'm too weak, too emotional, too this, too that. Maybe it’s because she’s seeing me become something she wasn’t allowed to be. She tells me that my brother’s stronger than I. and that men are stronger than girls. But the girl she knows is the image I project. The girl she thinks she knows? She lost me once at sixteen, when I opened up to her and she called me crazy in private and sympathized in public. She lost me for the second time at eighteen - when she forced me to tell her about the boy i liked - and proceeded to show me eighteen reasons why i shouldn’t have told her. She lost me for the third time at nineteen, when she would praise me in public for my work in the club but put me down for the same in private. She doesn’t even know me - how can she tell me how strong I am? At sixteen and seventeen - two heartbreaks, academic downfall, and toxic friends. At eighteen - mental collapse and bad health. It’s easy to nitpick and say I could have done it better. But what do you know? Hardly half.
And god, it hurts so fucking much to have built so much and overcome so much but still feel the same after four years. But that’s the thing about overcoming - it ebbs and flows. And tonight, it feels like it’s ebbing. Along with my sanity, though, why pretend that it was there in the first place? I feel as trapped as I was when I was sixteen - and I know I'm more than my darkest thoughts, but god. I understand what drives people to take their own lives. And I don't want to, but it is what it is. I wouldn't wish that pain upon anyone. I guess I truly am stronger than I give myself credit for. I wish I felt it though, because the scars from when I was sixteen may have healed. But the hurt hasn’t.
When I sat down to write my first speech, I sent a pic of all the ideas I had to my mentor. And I'd scribbled down a fanfic title that seemed to fit with my life in the mess of ideas. It was titled, “rinse and repeat”. Naturally, my mentor was intrigued by the title and suggested that I work on writing a script based on it. I obliged, but was a bit surprised that she’d pick that topic. I’d just impulsively jotted it down, thinking there was no way in hell she’d pick that one. But she did. And I had to come up with a script. The thing is, what I had in mind initially differed a lot from what I finally spoke. To me, “rinse and repeat” wasn’t just a passing thought. It was the mantra I lived by in my second semester. Sure, my mom shifted cities to support me through my recovery from illness. But she didn’t have the healthiest ways of managing her emotions. One moment, we’d be okay. The next, she’d be blaming me for all the mistakes I made and for what? I’d made a tiny misstep. One toe out of line. And that’s all it took to make her explode at me.
And to make matters worse, I still had sleep issues. I struggled to find my people at college. No one gave a shit about me. And maybe that’s better than everyone hating you. But god, the apathy hurts a lot. But life doesn’t stop even when you get hit from all sides. It doesn’t stop to let you process the things you went through. It keeps going. I’d attend classes, talk to someone, think I found a friend, then realize that they didn’t value me, and give up. My grades were good but not the best. Everything was boring and dull and mundane but I still kept going. Wash, rinse and repeat. Until toastmasters. I joined three clubs, and toastmasters was the one that started activities earliest. The smaller club size definitely helped too. I kept going not just because of the prestige, or because of the name. I kept going to club sessions because, when you’ve spent a lifetime being mistreated and invisible, it feels addicting to be seen. It feels addicting to be treated like a person instead of a nameless, faceless void. That’s what I thought when I jotted down “rinse and repeat”. Sitting through life even when it seems mundane.
But that’s not what I spoke about. I spoke about how my struggles in 11th grade made me lose confidence in myself, because I'd been a bright student before that. Because my first and second semesters were fresh in my head, and I guess I wasn't fully over the things I went through. Maybe that’s why “rinse and repeat” didn’t hit as hard as it should have. Because there was pain I was still willing to hide. And sometimes silence speaks louder than words. More than half a year later, one of my seniors said that they all did sense I had a lot going on. So maybe it wasn’t that people didn’t know how bad it was for me. It was more like they didn’t know what to say without rocking the boat. And maybe, moving forward, I'll be able to choose vulnerability without hiding. Maybe I'll help my juniors the same way my seniors showed up for me. But today isn’t that day.
She’d been waiting for this day since her exams had started two fortnights ago. She didn’t consider herself a huge planner, but she’d planned this down to a T. She’d asked her friends to suggest nice restaurants; and she’d shortlisted the right place after sifting through ten options. He made the reservation for the two of them as he’d promised. She’d planned her outfit too - a black off-shoulder dress that she’d normally consider a bit too risque - but she was feeling a bit bold.
On the day of the date, she felt off. She’d nearly cried trying to defend herself in an argument with her parents. But she decided to go through with the date anyway. She had spent days planning things out. So she wiped her tears, washed her face, dried it and dabbed powder where the tear stains had once been. She drew eyeliner wings and pulled the dress over her head. Was it just her.. or did she feel awful in that outfit? She could feel it outlining every flaw she’d hidden under baggy clothes. But she paid no heed and set off to the restaurant.
She’d arrived at the restaurant hardly a minute late, and when she caught sight of him waiting at the table, her breath caught in her throat. It’d been nearly two years since she’d first known him, but he still had that effect on her. He was wearing a blazer - she’d always liked when he wore blazers - she loved how they hugged his shoulders (she didn’t blame the blazer - for even she; the one who despised hugs found herself craving his embrace). And when he looked up and smiled at her, she didn’t feel butterflies. She felt warm. She felt steady. She felt held even when he wasn’t holding her. He reached to clasp her hand under the table and for a moment, she forgot everything. She forgot her worries. She forgot that she was crying less than an hour back.
But the rest of the date was…underwhelming to say the least. After placing their orders, they sat in silence, both of them on their phones. She didn’t hate it. She swore she wanted to see him. She wanted to have fun and bicker and banter and kiss him on the lips. Not this- the suffocating silence seemed to speak louder than her internal thoughts. She knew that being vulnerable wasn’t a sin but- god. She felt like shit and she was lonely and sad and no amount of smiles or jokes could change that.
“How’s your week been?” she asked, and he began to regale her with tales of the funny things his roommates were doing, and how that took his mind off exams for a bit. She smiled and laughed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She knew that he could sense something was off. He wasn’t teasing her like he usually did. Could he see the water brimming in her eyes? The tears were going to fall. She smiled and smiled and smiled, as if that could conceal the pain in her eyes.
“What about you?” he asked, and that’s all it took for the dam to break. For all the makeup she’d been applying to get washed off.
He looked alarmed at her burst of tears, and she would judge but she was too busy mopping her face and smearing all her hard work. An hour of makeup - gone. In an instant he was at her side, asking her if she was okay to be hugged, and enveloped her in a warm embrace. She stayed there for a while, crying in his arms. He stroked her back and whispered words of comfort in her ear, but words couldn’t change the mistakes she’d made. And that thought brought another flood of tears.
“Wanna leave now?” he asked.
“But what about the reservation and date night?” she countered.
“Y’know, I wouldn’t have been mad if you’d asked for us to postpone date night if you weren’t feeling up to it.”
“But what about the food?”
“We’ll pack it.”
Two bags of takeout, and one long drive later, they were at his place. This time, she was the one who reached for his hand, and he gently held hers in his. She could feel the roughness and the callouses at his fingertips, and she looked into his eyes.
“We can watch movies and just chill with the takeout,” he suggested, and she agreed, but they both stopped paying attention ten minutes into the first movie. Not that she’s complaining, because she’s in his arms. She didn't know why but she’s crying all of a sudden again. And with the tears came the shame.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, but that only made her cry harder.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, and she shook her head no.
“Just want a hug,” she choked out, and she was sobbing into his shoulder and he was awkwardly cradling her. He didn’t know what to do, so he stroked her back and let her cry.
“I messed up your blazer with my snot,” she added, making a face.
“It’s fine, the dry-cleaning was overdue, let’s just change into pajamas,” he suggested, and she agreed, before realizing she didn’t bring anything with her. He tossed her a shirt and some shorts to wear. After they’d both changed, she cuddled up to him again, the tears all gone.
“Someone’s very affectionate today,” he teased and her cheeks flushed scarlet. She didn’t know where she found the courage, but she leaned him and pecked him on the lips and started giggling.
“Maybe you should have kissed me sooner, then I’d have stopped crying,” she said, mock-offended.
“Maybe I should have,” he agreed, and there was silence again, but not the suffocating kind, and they just sat in the moment.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you that I wasn’t up for the date today,” she said.
“It’s not your fault, it’s on me too, I noticed you were off but didn’t know what to do.”
“How’d you know, though?” she asked, curious.
“I’ve known you for a year and a half. When you get upset, you go a bit quiet, and your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. And I see all the pain on your face, and I want to take it away, but I don’t know how. I can’t help you if you won’t let me, love.”
She ignored how she felt even warmer that he’d called her love. “It’s on me too. I’ll tell you when I’m not feeling up to things, but I was so excited to spend time with you, I didn’t want to ruin my one good day with you-”
“Hey. It’s a good day if I spend it with you. I don't care what we do, but I don’t want you to hide your unhappiness and put up a front not just for me, but for anyone.”
“That was cheesy.”
“I’m taking that back,” he said, mock-offended, but they both knew she didn’t mean it, and she giggled as she leaned in to peck him again. She nearly lost it at how speechless and drunk he looked.
“Next time we’re arguing I’ll just kiss you so you shut up and I win-”
“Not if I kiss you first,” and he leaned in and really kissed her, not just a peck.
And all at once, the warmth she felt was boiling into something hotter. His hands were in her hair, she looped hers around him, as if she was scared he’d pull away. She had called him drunk in her head, but she was just as bad. And her heart reached for things she had no experience with. At that moment, she wanted him. She wanted to feel his touch everywhere. On her hips, on her lips, in places she’d never let anyone see. And maybe she’d let him see her like that one day. But in this moment, she was happy. She was happy being drunk on his lips and his kisses and feeling the strength and gentleness of his arms. And while she wanted more, she wasn’t ready. And he was okay with that.
sometimes i wonder if i could erase
the feelings that light me ablaze
for the highs are euphoric; the lows are tragic
but you're just a person; not magic
my feelings aren't about only you
i wish i was the one you'd choose
but it seems i'm the one who has to lose
so i carefully file away shreds of truth
like stains of acrylic paint
my feelings can't be erased
and thus i lose myself in this maze
i'm the one who needs to be saved
i know you knew i wasn't okay
"are you okay?" you all asked twenty times a day
but what could i even say?
i'm in love with you and about to break?
i tell my heart, stop, we'll get hurt this time too
but my eyes always find my way to you
your warm voice, your broad smile
your bright eyes, your generic style
your broad shoulders, your blunt words
your calm confidence that makes heads turn
i know i'm far from the only girl who's fallen
so i hide the fact that my heart is stolen
sometimes i wonder if i could erase
the feelings that light me ablaze
but what makes me burn up
also makes me light up
and bleed words on this page
i pray it gets better with age
and when time passes me by
your face is a warm memory
I’m not sure if you’re aware of this
But my feelings unfold behind this blank canvas
The small kindness that you effortlessly give
Sews up my loose ends and makes me live
I don’t know if you see how I see you
Who I am behind this fifty foot wall
Everything about you is strange and new
I’m nervous and I like you, can you tell?
My brain switches to autopilot when you’re too sweet
Maybe you’re like that to everyone you meet
But every gesture feels like a new burn
As your stories fuel me and help me learn
And I’m so scared to write a fresh piece
Because you wash up in every specific niche
In my thoughts, in my heart
You don’t know how big you’re a part
When I see you, I feel I’ll overflow
But will you ever know?
Keep worrying what you think
If our ship would sail or sink
I could say it was your face or it was your charm
But it was by your kindness that I was disarmed
Maybe you’re not the last one I’ll meet
But you’re the first boy who has seen me as me
When we worked together for the first time
It had me worried to tell the truth
For how could I adapt to your rhythm and rhyme?
You were the embodiment of boyish youth
The way you treat me like I may crumble
Like you see every second thought, every stumble
Maybe you see more than I’d like you to
How could I not fall for you?
For behind the confidence and performative charm
I see someone who’s genuine and warm
When I write, the pen bleeds words about you
The pictures and memories seem too good to be true
How could I ever not fall for you?
every day i wake up, think i made the right choice -
that's until i hear the tone of your voice -
all the longing i've suppressed comes to the fore -
and i know i shouldn't, but i want to be yours.
some days i'm alright, i'm fine -
but on some i wish you were mine -
i say i'm not ready for a thousand things -
either rejection, or a relationship; fate brings.
i wish i was stronger than i am now -
because in these feelings i drown -
it's not because of you, it's me -
if i'm a boat, you're the stormy sea -
you make me question all i'd be -
i miss the way things were before -
when i lived the moment,
didn't wonder if it was more.
if i stop talking about you, i feel fine -
my thoughts once again become mine -
until i remember the club trip i can't go for -
you invited me but i had to close the door.
i'm scared you saw too much of me -
i'm scared that you don't like what you see -
i'm scared i'm off-course -
this can't get any worse.
it's the third time we're both club officers -
i have to be a strong girl -
but to tell the truth? i've never really been her.
how do you survive heartbreak?
how do you live when there's so much at stake?
how do you know when to pull the brakes?
how do you know that this time your sanity won't break?
i step forward, hoping that each mistake won't cost me as much -
i hope it doesn't show on my face that i crave your touch -
because last time i broke i went insane -
and there was so much hurt, so much pain.
I love your flow, it feels so nostalgic to me in a way I can't even explain other than saying, coming across you felt almost as if it was....kismet ✨️
aww thank you so much 💙✨️ i had to look up what kismet was lol but I'm so glad u enjoyed what I wrote !! it's the way I process things when they get a bit intense
i've been writing since 2021, so almost 4 and a half to 5 years? i didn't expect to fall into this i'm ngl it's a bit of a side quest that i accidentally found, and it's a great way to express my feelings !! i just hope no one i've written about accidentally finds what i wrote about them because....i don't show the hopeless romantic side of me to everyone haha
I wish I didn't like you this much -
youre all the galaxies I can't touch -
a person just out of reach -
I pull away like that's good for me
I have to hold myself back
keep myself right on track
but my eyes always find you
why do i feel like i'm burning anew?
loops and loops of endless thought
each shard of my mind dearly bought
I know i'm not ready to date -
and this is no indicator of fate -
and there's a thousand things I can't control
but that doesn't change that I want you whole
I don't even know if you see me that way -
all i know is i wish you'd stay
our galaxies collided, not star-crossed love-
but as a friend who heard me out
I don't reach out to just anyone when I'm in my head
I tried three people before but you picked up instead
you saw me in a moment I'm not proud of
pain and fear brought my defenses down
and you can't unsee what you saw
my insecurities, my fears, all neatly drawn
would you think less of me ?
would you not like what you see ?
did I hand you the key when I shouldn't have ?
because you know of a few things
that I'd hesitate to tell even my best friends
and now a part of me wants to make paper rings
but I know deep down, that I'm not ready
and however much my heart sings
and I get happy, lighthearted, giddy
I'm not sure if you could handle all of me
and I'd be crushed if you couldnt see
rejection would hit too hard
so I sit and swallow my feelings in the dark
I wouldn't say I'm a morning person. especially in the winter, when the dawn brings with it a renewed chill and you feel like taking refuge in the warm clump of blankets on your bed. This is one of the few days I get up early, and it's only to catch the morning train that heads back to my college. I roll out of bed rather reluctantly, brush my teeth, and make myself a cup of cold coffee with ice and no sugar.
As I step on the balcony to take my towel, I catch a glimpse of the morning sky. It isn't that early; the first streaks of dawn have just begun to surface through the deep blue sky. It isn't cinematic in the way sunrises are romanticized, but there's a quiet beauty in it; it looked like a painter's hand had gently brushed the horizon with a touch of light; the sun hadn't risen yet. "I've seen more sunrises than I can count," a voice rings in my head.
warmth that has nothing to do with the sun permeates my senses. And somehow, though I am loath to get up in the morning, I find myself agreeing with him that sunrises are indeed beautiful to behold. I could talk about how his smile feels as warm as the morning sun, or how his eyes light up your day. but that would be an oversimplified generalisation. He's a human just like I am. And in this moment, I don't want to idolise him. I caught a glimpse of the world he described, and somehow, that's intimacy I did not expect.
