#scrapofthought

[cookiesndaisies]

Come back to me, my love.

[cookiesndaisies]

I don't want to drink. Every bottle carries your name, every burn down my throat tastes like the ghost of your lips. It reminds me of who we were, of the life that slipped through our hands before I could hold it tightly enough.

You planted kisses on my skin as if they were promises, and I let them bloom. I gave myself to you willingly, letting every touch convince me I had finally found a place to belong. Before I knew it, I was already yours.

But I drink anyway, hoping the ache will drown before I do.

It never does.

The alcohol grows dull on my tongue, the warmth leaves my chest, and the silence returns wearing your voice. When there's no taste left in my mouth, I go back to finding you, in empty rooms, in passing faces, in songs I can no longer bear to finish, in every version of tomorrow where you still choose me.

[cookiesndaisies]

When I was a kid, I learned that love had conditions. My cousins told me I wasn’t enough because too girly, too soft, too different. I remember them saying "are you sure you're our cousin?" I didn’t play their games, didn’t roughhouse, didn’t pick up guitars or controllers. I loved books, baking, dress‑up. And for that, I was branded wrong.

So I carved myself into someone else. Jeans instead of skirts. Oversized shirts instead of blouses. Basketball instead of baking. Boxing gloves instead of recipes. Every visit, I killed a piece of myself just to be accepted. Every smile was a mask. Every laugh was borrowed.

It took years of silence, years of distance, to crawl back into my own skin. To wear dresses without shame. To breathe without apology. To finally be me again.

But now the wound reopens. Because the person I love most finds refuge in someone who is everything I am not. Someone who can relate to boy stuff. Someone that will never be me. And the voice inside me screams: You are not enough. It’s the same voice from childhood, only louder, crueler, sharper.

And I wonder if I should I break myself all over again? Should I run, disappear, erase the girl I fought so hard to reclaim?

Because right now, loving feels like bleeding.

And I don’t know how much more of me I can lose.

[cookiesndaisies]

I hate the fact that I love you so much that when you say you want me gone, I'll gladly jump into oblivion for you.

[cookiesndaisies]

You planted fingerprints on my body—

said I was yours.

You marked every inch of me,

told me I'm beautiful.

You devoured my being,

then declared eternal love.

And when we both finished,

you said it was just what I wanted,

nothing more.

But you started it!

You lit the fire.

—why did you walked away like it was mine to burn?

[cookiesndaisies]

There are times where uninvited thoughts find their way to the doorstep of your mind and get inside without even knocking. And sadly, most of those times, they dwell.

How can I tell him I'm still not over it? How can I say that I still need help? How can I handle this all by myself?

It sucks because I have learned how to handle pain: being with him.

...But how can I handle the pain that was caused by him?

It's been months but I am still haunted. Haunted by the ghost of what they were. The ghost of betrayal. And the ghost of what we once were.

[cookiesndaisies]

What's with Aug 1 and the flowers? Are they mourning the living? Lol jk

[cookiesndaisies]

What's possible and impossible?

Wait, is it possible

To love someone and lose the spark,

To crave the light but be trapped in the dark?

Is it possible

For love to linger yet feel like it's fading,

For a heart to whisper, "Stay," while breaking?

Wait, is it possible

To be in love but feel clipped and caged, To long for flight while standing on a stage?

Is it possible

To float in the weightlessness of devotion, While drowning in the heaviness of emotion?

Is it possible

For love to be both warmth and prison,

For passion to burn yet beg for permission?

Or should I let it die, And set fire to the pieces left behind?

Maybe it's better if I'll commit arson.