There are pages and pages within books and binds, as there is snow on every mountain and peak that holds itself above you. There are pens in the pen stand that stand their ground but the ink won't come through. There are petals and flowers and large cowards that sleep in the shade of the bloom. No strength or power to get up and shower, I wish all of this ends soon. There's a hum within the walls, there's a tint to the light that falls through the shade, there's a hope withi

The emptiness, the absence of weight on my chest. The discomfort of being free, not used to normalcy. The void is of a heart and overlapping it, is that of a diamond, over which rests a fairly new pair of lungs, all stuck in an open cage. How did the heart fit through the diamond gap is the first question in my mind; for I know, in a wild assumption of thoughts, how they easily left behind a void. At times I’ve noticed the hollowness in my chest, more so off late. It all da

Watch this year flee by, I must write this down. wave Hello 2025, Here is a new one, I am writing a letter to this year. I found it wrong to begin writing a letter to a year I had not lived in yet, so I only began 23 days into the new year. Now that I have grown accustomed to the change at the end of the date line, I write a letter of appreciation, of hopes and as a storage of love to those who read this. I find myself longing for the comfort the end of the year bought. A

I love my heels, desperately so. The elevator is opening new doors. Shall I wait by the stairs or shall I go? There's a shoebite building up on my smallest toe. I'm wearing my favourite heels today, it makes me feel pretty. I needed it, I didn't feel pretty otherwise. But they are giving me a shoebite. I want to believe these heels aren't like all my other shoes, how do I? It is proving the opposite. It's alright, the bite isn't too bad and I'm almost home. I should be okay.

"would you rather that, than be alive and out of bounds of a careless caretaker?" I keep the stickers from my pens on the wood of my table. Often, I don’t pay attention and throw them away, but I don’t forget to give them a proper send off. I fold them, letting the corners that have never met each other, hold themselves before they reach the end. Sometimes I am too absent minded to remove them from the pen in the first place. Maybe they are glad to be purposeful for a littl