• wildflowers in me •

songwriter | INFP | poet | reader ♡

[wildflowersinme]

What if i don't want to study, work hard and become a successful person? What if i just want to breathe, live and not apologize for my existence? What if i just want to dance in the rain? What if that's my only aim? What if drinking a cup of tea with my blanket around me is as far as i wanna go and be? What if this is all i need? For this to be enough?

Enough.

But that is always too much to ask for, isn't it? I learnt, no, I was taught that ever since i was a child. To be enough is always too much to ask for.

[wildflowersinme]

It's like i have become rigid. Too withdrawn to roar out from the rooftops even when nobody's watching. Too isolated even when I'm clustered by everybody. I've travelled far into the void, and in turn, now I'm lost in space. I am aimless. There are no paths before me that i'd take. I've become a cave. Hollow inside. Because no matter how hard my stone-heart can get, the rain is still capable of eroding me. So i still break. Even in my brokeness, i continue to break. My shattered pieces turn into dust yet i'd rather die than to accept this truth. The lies i tell myself are like kerosene which I've coated my heart with. They burn at the slightest warmth.

I am not the best. I am not the best.

I need to tell myself. I need to tell myself this until my teeth bleeds and my eyes fall out its sockets. I need to tell myself this until each word is engraved in my bones. I can't continue in this delusion. It is nothing but that; a delusion. I need to stop. I have ignored the red light far too long.

Reality hurts, and I can't escape it anymore.

I can't escape it anymore.

- augusta, one of those days.

[wildflowersinme]

I don't think i can talk about you and expect it to make sense. It is insane. Whatever that is between us. We are less than lovers but its more than a crush. We are less than friends but it's more than a phase. We're in betweening. A paradox on the time scale. We're less rational and more soul. We're less logical and more heart. We're less water and more blood. We have less contact but more connection. And i believe that's a terrible place for a fragile heart like mine to be in. To be in between the place of dream and reality. In between you and me.

- augusta, in betweening.

[wildflowersinme]

October tastes like polio drops; bitter and tongue-curling. But if you remember well, it tastes like childhood dissolved in tears.

- augusta // alonely autumn.

[honeyed-sunflowers]

i had a friend who loved winters. every time i feel the cold crawling under my skin in shades of blue and white, i think of him. he, whose skin was golden and radiated warmth whenever i sat too close to him, loved this season. i never truly understood why; i don't understand even today. the cold did not live inside him, but it does for me. it's a never-ending blizzard, a sickness that never truly leaves your body, a feeling of being trapped under a frozen lake. that's what winter is for me. it's like waiting for a warm home, soft sweaters and a fireplace but never getting that. i'm the little match-girl every winter, walking barefoot on the snow to sell matchsticks to people to make them stay. i can't go back home... not yet.

my friend was definitely summer. his eyes burned just like the way meteors do in the atmosphere. maybe he burned too much, he lit the matchstick and maybe it burned his whole town down. maybe that's why instead of loving his season, he chose the harsh and unforgiving winter. the opposite that will hopefully save his fiery chaos.

and in the same way, i can't accept the winter inside me. i always wait for the spring but it comes and leaves too soon. that's why i am always so unsatisfied — the season i got is my curse, but it feels warm to know that it would have been his blessing. maybe my friend would have stayed if he knew i was winter.

today, i felt the winter seeping into my bones again. my head is filled with static noise and my heart is heavy with all the burnt matchsticks. i had a friend who loved winters, and i wonder, why it was not enough for him to stay with me.

the winter he left behind is still weeping in my wilting heart.

— dandelion [the winter inside me]

[wildflowersinme]

I finally knew how to reblog! So hehehe i scrolled all the way down and did it! ♡

[wildflowersinme]

My heart doesn't love you like it did before. Your eyes are normal and your smile is bland. I don't see beauty in them like I did before. Your arms are cold and loving you got old. I don't write poetry about you anymore. Your dreams made me feel less alone and you were my home, until one day; I had to lock the door, say goodbye to what we were once before. Until one day, we were folklore.

- augusta, until one day [part ii]

@badiii thank you for suggesting the awesome title ♡.

[wildflowersinme]

The greatest tragedy was never Romeo and Juliet, honey. It was you and me. There is no sadder story than a story that never got to be written. There is no greater tragedy than to never have happened at all. And there is no bitter ending better than a heart loving in silence forever.

- augusta, you & I [part ii]

[wildflowersinme]

I don't think there's a name for what we were. We weren't friends. We weren't lovers. But we made each other smile in a way that didn't make sense to our rational brains. I guess we made each other happy, until one day, we didn't.

- augusta, until one day [part i]

[wildflowersinme]

Darling, you're the one with the knife. But the heart you stab is yours and the one you kill is yourself.

- augusta, the girl with a knife.

@aphrodisiacal-nyx

[wildflowersinme]

I want something intense. Something that will never leave. Something that will stay even if it doesn't last forever. Something that will make itself home in these broken bones and something that will invade my homeland of no man's land. People think it's love and that I'm writing about love, and à like to call poets like me hopeless romantics. But all I am is lonely and all I write about is loneliness. I don't know about love.

- augusta, on love & loneliness.

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