now there are songs on my playlist that take me back to your bedroom instantly. it feels like a scene from a movie with a montage song, when the couple is finally together and sharing cute intimate moments. this is post the talking stage, this is the cringe cute stage. can't get enough of each other, experiencing each other for the very first time. your hands on my face, my legs around you. kisses planted on the forehead, switching positions, laughing. jokes about — wow, have you paid attention to the lyrics ever? that's like a situationship playlist. laughing, looking at each other knowing that this thing that we have is anything but a situationship scene.

shall I change the playlist?

no, come here.

what do I do now? what do I do with these songs? what do I do with these memories of you? I'm not one to mind cherishing memories of people no longer in my life — in fact, I do it very well. I keep them in mint condition for decades with no intention of selling them at any point. but our memories? it's one of the first times I am having trouble cherishing such sweet moments.

I know you wish me ill. that too is new for me. what did I ever do so wrong to you other than be myself and not melt and mold my existence into the me you wanted to love and keep?

no matter how much you hate me, I wish you well. no matter, I'll continue being me.

at lunch today I cut my finger. I don't exactly know how but it was when I was talking about you — did my body have to manifest my pain in flesh and blood?

I noticed some of the blood was smeared on my other finger but I ignored it and proceeded to lick the melted chocolate right next to it from the muffin I was devouring.

did I ignore your red flags like that? was I okay with you devouring me?

fuck no.

on both counts.

there's a reason why it was only a little cut — out of the blue, yes, but only little. unlike your ego. like something else. like many things else.

there's blood so you think you've hurt me. too bad you didn't get to know me at all to know that I'd lick that much blood as a condiment without blinking an eye.

words are cheap, it's the actions that show heaps about the person you are vs the person you pretend to be.

time is not my enemy, even though it may be yours. karma is not something I'm afraid of, so curse me all you want.

you are a man child who doesn't see he needs to heal, I'm a grown ass woman so I'll not take up this unnecessary task despite all your masks.

bye now, bye forever. this is the only poem I'll ever write about you; too bad you're not even worth my tears — a nobody, unworthy of even my fears.

- j (x)

Being overstimulated is such a weird thing to explain to people. Like "hey sorry, I'm not mad at you and this is nobody's fault and I'm not blaming anyone for it happening, I am aware this is a part of regular everyday life but I am mentally crumbling because There Have Been Things Happening nonstop for 5 hours straight back to back with no breaks, and I really need to sit down in complete silence for like 15-25 minutes, after which I will be completely fine and can proceed as normal. But if I'm not allowed to have that, I will resort to violence."

I want to escape myself. And yet I want to fully embrace myself. This conundrum will be the death of me because it breeds inaction. But isn't fully embracing myself the real escape? But, then again, isn't escaping myself and becoming a whole other someone the path to embracing that new self? And you know at the end of the day inaction doesn't worry me as much as misaction or impulsive action does. I don't think it's fun to make mistakes and learn from them. I think it's stupid to make mistakes so freely. I think many things are stupid. I know I'm not one of them. It's funny. I think many bad things of myself. But not this. So, then, do I really want to escape myself? If there's even one good, solid thing you like about yourself, shouldn't you just stay? And because I'm not stupid, I am smart enough to know that you can keep some and lose some and change the rest. So, then, do it. What are you waiting for? Escape the parts that need escaping and embrace the rest. The relationship with self is not simple. It's the one complex relationship worthy of sitting through patiently. And repeatedly. And with compassion and grace.

Reasons I can't stop crying on a Monday

A. Lack of sleep B Coffee that's a bit too cheap for my taste C. Crammed space D. A time-sensitive work project that won't allow me to go at my pace

A. I miss you B. I miss your stupid jokes that can make my tears stop C. I miss you and you don't miss me D. I miss you, you miss me, but we still cannot be A. Need more time that isn't owned by my company B. Need more money that I don't have to pay as bills or taxes C. Need more energy to go meet my daily step count D. Need half a fucking will to live

You know the kind of person you are? Let's say you and I were on a walk in a park. And in the middle of our path we come across two sparrows that we pass by. You would have something to say or write about that thirty minutes later. You would pick up on it and you'd still be thinking about it. It would spark an emotion, make you think of things. That's the person you are. And I mean it as a compliment. You feel too much so the way you see the world, the way you perceive and experience it is also different. All the mundane and not so mundane things. And it comes at a cost, one that I know you may already know quite well. But that's who you are. And I think it's a beautiful thing.

— notes from friends

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. What do you miss? I miss the way you smile, that knowing smile. I miss the way you hug me, like you can never get enough. I miss the way you kiss my cheeks, my eyes, my nose, everything so many times before you come to my lips. I miss the way you ask me to hug you tighter, bone-crushing tight, every time we hug. I miss the way you crack your absolutely silly jokes. I miss how happy you get when I laugh at them. I miss the way you get so excited to make me ramen, eggs, and any other thing we have time for. I miss the way you pull me by my legs closer to you in bed. I miss the way you kiss me, like this is what we were put on this earth to do. I miss the way you say the most insane, politically incorrect shit and wait for my reaction. I miss the way you make worse suicidal jokes than me. I miss the way you imitate me when I am trying to act mad or cutesy. I miss the way you never capitalise my name when we text. I miss the way you say my name. I miss the way you remember our first memories just as much or perhaps even more vividly than me.

I MISS YOU, YOU FUCKER.

I miss saying your name. Again and again and again. Each time with a different tone and intention that you always catch on to. I miss being sad in front of you, being real in front of you. I miss feeling the way I felt with you. I miss hearing how you feel with me. I miss the way you gave me lessons on the correct way to hold a cigarette. I miss the way you pacified me, the way you apologised so randomly and earnestly that I could forget almost about anything.

Fuck you.

With over a month of distance now, I realize how much I loved you and how scary it was. You could say and do anything and yet and yet all I would do would be to look at you so tenderly and with so much love.

I miss you.

I miss liking someone, loving someone. I miss being real with someone, I miss not hating myself with someone, I miss not hating someone for them withholding love.

Don't ever walk into my life again.

I have romanticized you and all the time shared with you a bit too much. If you were to walk back in and shatter the glass, show me all the things I have such a blindspot for, I don't think I'd be able to breathe again.

Missing you now, no matter how painful, still has a sweet sadness to it. But if I were to wake up from this day dream delusion and see you and see me and see us as an objective third-party, all I would see is a silly boy and a sillier girl and because we are not teenagers, it would not be okay. The silliness? It would be tragic. It would be bone crushing, even though our hugs could never end up being.

So I will keep missing you. I will miss you forever if I have to. But I would rather miss you and have you be a past tense than become any form of present tense in my life ever again.

what is the reality of any feeling?

I am mad at you. I cannot live without you. I never want to see your face again. I cannot believe I thought you were everything for me. I cannot believe I am lying to myself — you are everything.

what even is the reality of any feeling?

days that taste like adulting success.

today I pet two cats at dinner. at dinner that I had with a friend who used to be a lover. today I got irritated at multiple people I love. I went to the beach alone and the sun set was gorgeous, the weather was extremely windy, and the moon was out shinning beautifully like always. today I let myself eat and drink junk without talking about the medication I am on or what I was recently diagnosed with. I walked around a lot and got chores done. today I had hard conversations and didn't given into my intrusive thoughts or the snake in my head. I listened to sad Hindi music and let that make me feel understood. today I did everything I had to and wanted to, today I dealt with things without hating my life or feeling doomed or letting myself get too dramatic or distressed. today was a day well lived. today I was more present for myself. today I was more patient with myself. today I am proud of myself.

s.a., Texts I (almost) Sent You pt. 5

s.a., Texts I (almost) Sent You pt. 5

s.a., Texts I (almost) Sent You pt. 5