On wearing too little on a cold night

And so it goes, I am running away once more…


Right now my hands are as cold as my lungs, and I blame it all on this storm that has come and gone in a blink of an eye, much like an anxiety episode. Surely it’s not because of the solitude that I am trapped in right now, not at all the imprisonment I declared my own in this tiny messy room.

No, not at all because I cannot face the dark side of my soul, the demons that have been hiding inside for so long they now have rooted too deep. Not that they have eaten me from the inside out and now I have grown trivial. Petty. Insignificant.


No one has ever written down the things I want to say to you. I searched everywhere to borrow a word, because I have lost all my words. But all of them are nowhere to be found. Now I have no words.

No one has ever brought these feelings into a song, so that they will be softened. No one has ever buried these emotions into a novel, so that they will flow.

No one has ever understood what I have always meant to tell you, but never could.

No one would be waiting for me through this time.

Would you be my no one?


They asked me why I still cried over the same milk that had been spilt so many times before.
I said, because it still fucking hurts every single time.

They didn’t understand. They thought this whole thing was stupid. But I know you understand, don’t you? I know you understand.


Lying alone in bed at night fucking terrifies me. I’m trying to be happy and stop being sad, but I wish I die when I sleep.

I wish I sleep.

I wish I die.


In ten minutes, he singlehandedly reminded me why I fell for him and why we wouldn’t have a chance.

I wish he knows how I feel when I hear his voice and the things it does to me. But every time we meet, we drift further apart.


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