ayshi3e

I have literally nothing better to do

[perfectfeelings]

“If you can’t do anything about it, then let it go. Don’t be a prisoner to things you can’t change.”

— Tony Gaskins

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

I don’t think anyone will ever fully understand how Matilda by Harry Styles speaks to me.

I know people say it’s about family. About eldest daughters. About healing from where you come from. And I see that. I respect that.

But the way I hear it goes a little deeper.

To me, it is also for the unchosen ones.

For the ones no one truly saw until they finally chose to walk away.

For the ones who spent their entire lives trying to prove their “worth” to people who never even knew how to measure it.

For the daughters who had to leave home just to find the love and respect they were always starving for.

But it does not stop at family.

It follows you into everything.

Into friendships where you gave more than you received.

Into relationships where you would have chosen them every single time, yet quietly knew you would never be their first choice.

It is for the girl who knows.

The woman who understands.

The one who has learned when to step back and when to walk away without looking back.

It is for the ones who laugh things off.

The ones who are never mad, never too sensitive, never too much, because they were taught that being less made life easier.

Because somewhere along the way, they started believing that being less made them easier to love, easier to keep.

That being low maintenance meant being chosen.

So they learned to shrink.

To swallow their words.

To soften their reactions.

To smile through the things that deserved to be spoken out loud.

And then, at some point, something shifts.

They realise they only have themselves.

That choosing themselves is not selfish, it is necessary.

That letting people go is not failure, it is freedom. It is growth

And slowly, quietly, they let it all go.

Maybe that is what the song is trying to say.

Or maybe this is just what it means to me.

Either way, for everyone who has ever felt replaceable,

for everyone who has ever felt like they had to earn a place in someone’s life,

this one feels like home.

For my abandonment issues baddies, this one is ours.

~hopeless

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

It feels like my house has always been on fire —

a fire no one else can see.

But every time I look around,

everyone and everything seems untouched,

like I’m the only one left scorched.

I’m the one with burned skin,

the kind that scares away the people I love.

Even the ones who try to stay

walk away when they see how deep the pain goes.

The world really did a number on me, didn’t it?

It burned me from the inside out

and left me to deal with the ashes alone.

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*⁠。

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

"What’s your type?"

The one who sits in the dark corners of the room, wondering if he’s truly unlovable. The one who loves people like it’s as natural as breathing. The kind of guy who believes in all the positives of the world and chooses kindness every single morning.

That’s my type—because that’s the kind of guy I’d love, care for, and protect.

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*⁠。

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

The empty sky feels familiar, like a mirror reflecting something deep within me.

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*⁠。

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

My Pretty Boy

I don't want to glorify your eyes, because if I did, I could write novels about them, and it still wouldn't be enough. Your eyes-they remind me of love.

I don't want to glorify your voice, the way my name rolls off your tongue or the sound you make when you get excited about literally anything.

I don't want to glorify your smile, because I still can't find the words to describe what it does to me.

I don't want to glorify your hair-the way it falls over your forehead and reaches your eyes, your beautiful, beautiful eyes. Because how can I even begin to explain how much I want to run my hands through your hair all the time?

No, no, I don't want to glorify you at all. We're just friends, right? Friends aren't supposed to fall in love with each other.

But how can I not glorify you when one smile from you is all it takes to set off fireworks in my mind and butterflies in my stomach? When every time the wind brushes through your hair, I wish I could capture that air in a jar and treasure it forever? When I look into your eyes and see love and dreams.

But no, I won't glorify you. I will leave the rest of the pages blank and wish that maybe, just maybe, along the lines, in the quiet corners of your heart, you are glorifying me too.

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*⁠。

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

11:45 PM

5th February, 2025

I'm sitting at the edge of adulthood, carrying all my past selves in my right hand and all my future versions waiting in my left.

I look in the mirror and catch a glimpse of my 10-year-old self—the one who always thought turning 21 was a big deal. She'd be surprised to know I still think the same.

When I scrunch my nose just a little, I see my 13-year-old self, the one who discovered a newfound love for horses and swore she’d buy one the moment she was old enough. Turns out, 21 still isn’t old enough.

I glance sideways and find my 16-year-old self—frustrated, full of self-loathing, stuck in a war against herself. She’d be relieved to know she won. The war is over.

Then I close my eyes and picture my 18-year-old self—her anxious, pain-filled eyes, her racing thoughts, her shaking hands, her restless legs. All I want to do is hold her until the fear fades away. I want to tell her I’m proud of her. Proud of every time she held on, every time she believed in me, every time she chose to keep going. Because she led me here. And I want all my past selves to be proud of who I’ve become.

Growing up is a terrifyingly beautiful tragedy—unavoidable, but something we can still dance through.

I'm turning 21. I don’t know what life has in store for me. I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to face it. But I do know one thing—my past selves didn’t fight so hard and come this far only for me to stop here. I owe it to them to make their struggles worth it in the end.

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

When you look at my scorecard, you see low grades and harsh remarks. But when I look at it, I see a little girl studying her heart out because she believes that’s all she’s good at. She believes that if she doesn’t have high scores, then what else could prove to others that she’s special—that she deserves to be celebrated?

I see a girl starving herself as punishment for not being 'good enough.' I see her sitting under a tree, weighed down by the burden of being 'perfect,' watching other kids play freely, while her shoulders are too heavy to let her join in. So she sits, and she waits, until that girl grows into a teenager, watching others dress up, do makeup, and have fun while she struggles with her grades. She’s running an imaginary race, trying to look perfect, be perfect — no matter how she feels inside.

I remember that girl staring at the ceiling, feeling defeated, thinking she really isn't enough. I see her taking sympathy from others like knives piercing the open wound that is her heart. So no, you don’t understand. You don’t get to lecture me about failure.

Because failure and I—we’re best friends.

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*⁠。

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

Through the mask

You ask me why I avoid eye contact, and I let you believe it's probably anxiety. But what I don't tell you is something I'm afraid to admit out loud, even to myself. I fear that if you look into my eyes long enough, you'll see through my joyous and cheerful masks. You'll discover how lifeless my eyes truly are. You'll notice the emptiness, the void left by all the love I desperately wished for but never received.

I'm terrified you'll see through all my walls and recognize my deep insecurities, how poorly I think of myself. You'll see how desperately I'm trying to be lovable while others are loved effortlessly for who they are. You'll see how uncomfortable I am in my own skin and how I constantly have the urge to peel it off and escape it. You'll sense how I feel like a ghost in my own home.

I'm terrified that you'll finally see me the way I see myself and that you'll despise me as much as I despise myself. Most of all, I'm frightened that you'll see how terrified I am of my own thoughts. The weight of my heavy and empty heart presses down on me, making it hard to breathe sometimes. Every glance in the mirror is a painful reminder of the person I fear I am.

Every time I avoid your gaze, it's not just anxiety—it's a desperate attempt to hide the broken pieces of my soul. I fear that if you truly saw me, you wouldn't understand, and worse, you do understand and I end up staining your soul with my bleeding heart. We all talk about the monster under the bed but nobody has ever told me what I should do when the monster is inside my head?

But, deep down, I hope that one day someone might actually dare to look into my eyes, see all my flaws and fears, and still choose to stay. I know they probably won't, and why would they? But it doesn't hurt to wish, right?

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*⁠。

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

"you don't have to set yourself on fire to keep others warm"

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

Behind the Mask of Perfection

"What if I can't do it?" A question that catches my parents' attention. Without further discussion or argument, they simply respond, "We know you can do it. You're a natural." I feel a lump in my throat as I fight back tears, letting them blur my vision. Maybe if I can't see them clearly, I'll finally be able to speak my mind. Maybe.

Finally, I muster the courage to say, "What if I fail? Mom? Dad? What will you do then? What if I'm not gifted after all? What if I'm not someone with wasted potential but someone who never had the potential to begin with? You always tell me to give my best next time but what if I told you this is the best I can do? What if I tell you I'm not your perfect child? And I am surely not your trophy child. What if I don't want to compete because I'm exhausted? Because the weight of your expectations is too heavy for my shoulders. Tell me, where do I put this down? Where do I put this feeling down?

"Will you still love me the same? Even if I tell you I don't want to be the one every kid in the family gets compared to? Will you understand if I say I don't want to be in competition with my siblings? I just want them to love me. I'm not perfect. You thought I had the potential to be, and I didn't want to disappoint you, Mom. So I played the part, but I'm drained. So emotionally drained. Tell me, do you still think I'm worthy of your love when I'm not special?"

They look up from what they’re doing. My words hang in the air, heavy and unanswered for a very long few seconds. "Don't be silly," Mom says, not meeting my eyes. "You're just overthinking. You'll be fine." I go numb when I realise I don't even remember the last time I was fine. I think to myself What did you do to your child Mom? You made me so hard now I'm begging for softness. Why did you do this to me Dad? You made me so strong now I'm pleading to be sensitive.

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*⁠。

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

I’m tired of writing from the villain’s perspective.

-Reckless by Lauren Roberts

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

The Seven Lives I'd Live

If I had a chance to live seven lives, I'd cut my veins and jump off a cliff in the first one. In my second life, I would be my parents' perfect daughter: excelling in school, completing my studies, and marrying at the "right" age. I would live a "perfect" life, doing household chores and raising my two children with a loving husband who earns a five-figure salary. Every summer, we’d go on vacation, bringing back souvenirs to add to my cherished collection.

In my third life, I would be the rebel child. I’d run away from home without a word and lose contact with everyone. I would become a traveler, exploring the heights of mountains and the depths of oceans, capturing their beauty through my camera lens. I'd finally see the "world beyond the mountains."

In my fourth life, I’d be a 9-5 employee, living my best life in London. In this life, my soulmate and I wouldn't just be friends or siblings; we’d fall in love, and everything would fall into place. We would live in a small apartment with flower pots on the windowsill—pots he doesn't particularly like but tends to because I love them.

I would dedicate my fifth life to helping people. I’d spend it raising orphaned kids as my own and caring for parents abandoned by their children. In my sixth life, I’d live out my small-town café dream. I’d run a café that also serves as a bookstore, with a flower shop outside. I’d make friends with the customers and remember their orders, giving them a complimentary cookie when they’re having a bad day. I’d feed the poor and let stray dogs shelter under my café shed during rain, making my café a safe haven for everyone.

In my seventh and final life, I would choose a peaceful existence in a wooden cottage in the countryside, far from the city. I’d live alone with my pet horse, August. I’d have a farm to grow fresh vegetables and fruits, a garden filled with flowers, and pets including chickens, goats, and a fish. I’d spend my days surrounded by nature and mesmerizing scenery, dying of old age with no regrets. I’d finally be at peace, knowing I'd lived each life as I wanted.

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*。

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

[perfectfeelings]

“I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things which I dare not confess to my own soul.”

— Bram Stoker, Dracula

[caffeinated-zombies-blog]

Where were you?

I look at him, trying to make me understand his love is genuine. I want to listen, but I hear nothing. It feels like I've lost my hearing a long time ago when I was 11 and I heard the phone crash against the wall when my father threw it. I remember the last thing I heard was my father's rage.

I squint my eyes, raise my eyebrows, even cup my hand over my ear to hear his pleading, but all I hear is dead silence. I try to read his lips. All I can understand is "I love you. I really do. Trust me."

I think to myself how I can make him understand it's not his fault but mine—my mistrust is the issue. I want him to see that I'll do nothing but break his heart and crush it because I fear if I don't, he will do the same to me. How do I convey that I will abandon him before he gets the chance, out of my fear of the pain of being left behind? I want him to grasp that grief, mistrust, and rage run in my veins, and I'm full of it. I fear I'll stain his soul with my darkness. I have so much to say, but I don't, because all I want right now is to run away as far as I can so I don't ruin anyone.

I gesture with my hands and ask him to stop. I say something even I can't hear, but I know he did when I see his expression change from pleading to pity. I tell him I don't deserve it. I tell him he's better off without me. I tell him he doesn't love me because no one can. I say a lot of things I don't remember, but lastly, I ask him:

Where were you when I still believed in love?

Where were you when my heart was still soft?

Where were you when I was still kind?

You would've loved 11-year-old me.

For a moment, we fall into a profound silence. Then he takes out a pen and writes something on my hand before leaving. I watch him walk away, fading into the city lights. I open my fist and read, "Indeed, I would have loved you when you were young, but now, with your heart of stone, I still can't help but fall in love with you every time I hear you talk about what you love. I'll wait for you until the day you fall in love with your stone-cold heart."

~ ｡⁠*✧hopeless✧⁠*⁠。

[serethereal]

laid up in bed googling normal things like have i ruined my life. is it too late