she.

Don’t ask a lot of questions. If she wants to tell you something she would. Just don’t force it out of her and don’t try and decipher things through meaningless words. Sometimes she answers in silence, and maybe that’s not enough but believe her when she says she’s trying.

waiting game.

We find ourselves waiting and waiting.. Like dropping coins on an empty well, closing our eyes, praying and expecting for wishes to come true. Miracles. Who makes them? I go around in circles like a dog chasing his own scent. I got nowhere to go, and depression has slithered its way and every night I have manifested these monsters in my dreams, if I ever get the time to sleep. Sleep has become this unattainable idea though, and the idea itself is reassuring but impossible. I wish I could just go back in time and tweak a few things, scalpel and cut up things I no longer want in my life. I thrive on pain, but it becomes unbearable at times I just want to scream or tell someone. But I don’t trust a lot of people, and that flaw is on me.

Love. kind of.

Her salty lips and hot breath welcomed his as they sat holding each other amidst a cold and rainy afternoon. She knows this moment is fleeting. She has doubts building up as each minute passes by. She’s gradually hurting. In her moment of weakness, how she wishes that things would just hit her all at once, because it’s suicide to want someone and know that you don’t possess the power to hold on to them forever ..and how can someone promise forever?