#instawritings

Downpour before winter is everything I ever want. Let it rain and bring the winter again.

Plot twist: I probably don’t have a soulmate 

I wonder if I was born sick and depressed or this universe just disappoints me way too much.

I could never forget anything. That is my biggest punishment.

Loneliness has the sharpest teeth hence it leaves you with the deepest wounds.

The historical knowledge I want to gain over night is alarming. It’s like I’m threatening my own existence and struggling to get to know every detail of the chronicles or events that took part years and years before I even saw the light of this universe. I need to know the truths, some of the darkest secrets. My friends, I feel alarmed by my own compulsive thoughts, sometimes.

I crave no one’s presence. Nor do I wait for someone to show up. But if once in a blue moon, somebody seeks a place into the picture, I foresee the shadow of their farewell slinking by the doorway. I’ll count days, to finally see the shadow growing lips & tongue just to say goodbye. I’ll count days to stand by the door as the shadow slowly decays & to scream, “I could see it coming. I didn’t fall a victim this time.” Shall I name it defencelessness or bravery?

Ngl girls don’t simply remember everything you say. Girls double read your texts.

yes girls is me.

I now don’t find any point of going out if it’s not for only reading outside and enjoying my existence on my own.

And i don’t know why, I often feel like, writing about my own trauma would come out to sound less agonising that it actually is.

Happiness never entered the door alone. Her shadow was grief; I failed to notice. I’m fairly certain- For, I’ve never felt love without feeling that nameless pain in my heart and bones. Which is to say, only when it aches you get to know love entered the door again.

Just wondering if I should wait for another mild heartbreak to finally disappear under mysterious circumstances or just do it right now anyway.

The idea that I haven’t lived this life to the fullest, makes me feel like, I’ve already lived this life enough and gone old.

I addressed all your losses like they were mine. No, That’s not mercy. I would rather call this a misery instead.

I recall December,

I recall last December my dear.

I recall its every bit

When you were last here.

December is about - losing grips, giving up on dreams, breaking down into pieces, waiting for an old friend to be in our life,again. -A thick hopelessness,stuck in the throat.

December is all about fantasy and an unknown courage, picking up the pieces and building ourselves again. December is surreal. December is an illusion.