I Like The Way You Express Things, Incredible :)

I like the way you express things, incredible :)

Thank you so much!! I appreciate this a lot 💗💗

I'm wasting time writing this, also

In early July, as the afternoon heat seeps into my skin, I find myself in the backyard, staring at an unfinished garden. I still remember the purpose of starting it: to turn my stress into something better. To distract myself. To escape. Yet, here I am, leaning against the door, doing nothing and I can’t help but feel a bit bad about it.

“It’s a shame,” I mutter quietly to myself, leaning wearily against the door. My skin clings uncomfortably to my shirt, and a feeble fan struggles to disperse the sticky film of sweat on my forehead.

I glance at the garden, half-hearted and abandoned, hoping for it to grow on its own, almost begging at this point. But each passing day, I feel the plants that could've bloomed growing inside me, as if another year is weaving through my veins. I waste endless hours, I realize that now as I’m scrolling through my notes. I was supposed to write down a grocery list for my mom, what went from “get 2 pounds of potatoes” turned into the familiar refrain of “finally getting my life together,” scribbled fervently at 14, then again at 15. It’s almost funny, in a way. 

A whisper of “It’s a shame” as I flip through the pages. And here I am again, typing away at my phone, drafting yet another plan to reignite my life at 17 for the umpteenth time. 

I waste seconds, too. Never learned how important they are. I stand by the coffee machine, hypnotized by each slow drip into the pot, drawn like a moth to the light. I know there's better things to do, something—anything—else. But still, I wait, until the last grind is used up. The aftertaste on my tongue isn't just bitter; it's saturated with shame. It's a sudden ache to the stomach, I realize too late: I don't even enjoy coffee. Now it leaves me wide-eyed at night, thinking too much about the time I waste. I stay up until it’s morning, waking at 3 pm like it’s perfectly fine, then fritter away the day, I feel like it’s too late to do anything worthwhile.

Tears blur my vision, and sometimes it feels like I can't stop until my whole body trembles with the weight of it all. I used to despise the softness of my skin, there were times I tried to squeeze into the smallest version of myself. But without it, what would I hold onto? What would anchor me in this world?

Crying feels like a privilege for the young, but here I am, feeling like a child with tears streaming down my face. In the blink of an eye, so much time slips through the fingers I sob into my hands with, and still, the shaking persists. 

I've gotten so used to seeing your back, your black hair tied up messily as you tirelessly work day and night. I sit on the staircase, not doing much, while you rush past, paying me no mind. This house feels warm, and I have no reason to go outside, nowhere else to be. No one to become. I watch you leave from my window, and I wave goodbye when I know you’ll come back. But I didn’t think of what I would do when you didn’t come back one day, and then the flames consume the house, the walls closing in. I have to find you. I run through the house, I see my reflection in the mirror and I find you in me. I find you in the moon and me in the stars. I find you in the withering flowers and me as the seeds you plant. I stumble outside, knees scraping against concrete. The rain pours, but I barely feel it. My heart aches, it’s bleeding into the raindrops. You’re gone, and I’m alone, but you taught me love and pain. You’ll keep staying a memory, fixed in place, while I move forward without you. I gather myself and return home, but you’re still not there when I get back. But instead I see you in everything I do. I tell myself, “I’ll eventually become just like you one day, so I guess I’ll have to start now” all while I still have you, so that you can help me through all of this.

They found your heart too big for the parcel’s size and sent it back.

The sun still sets for both of us on different ends. I would peak through from under my covers and wonder why the light was on so late when we’re supposed to be asleep. I bite my tongue as I see you vacuum seal your heart to give.

Like an angel and devil perched on my shoulders. I hold back my words, the silence mumbles like an angel, while the unsettling calm whispers like a devil, both urging me to tread cautiously, it feels a bit sacrilegious to ruin this moment for you.

I inhale deeply, though peace eludes me. Accepting the hate you think you deserve, swallowing it like a bitter pill they said would help, but it only hurts your stomach. They don’t know they caused the marbles in your brain, circling endlessly. You’ll find peace when you leave this past behind but I also know your brain would short circuit if it wasn’t thinking about something to keep you busy.

But as you get up to leave without looking back at the mess, I gather the anger you’ve left behind on the table, cradling it in my hands just as I do with the love you hold me to. Those feelings you have, seeming less weighty to you than to others. Not through the same eyes but with unseen hands, they reach down to pull the shadows beneath your eyes, harshly tearing with all the efforts you make.

But I see it all, just as I see you. Every morning, as the setting sun pours through the windows, bathing it’s forgiving light upon you when you finally gather the courage to crawl back into bed.

The sun bites down on my shoulder

I’m humming a song I can’t remember where I got it from; I think you sang it once when I was in the back seat of your car as we wound up the mountains. I put in my head that it was supposed to keep you out, but I’m singing your favorite song on my only free day. My childish defiance of your affection but you still find a way through me.

It’s warm, and I’m laying down against a beach lounge, letting the sun soak into my brown skin. It kisses me and I feel myself turning red, I know you hate it. I have my sunglasses on, and I act like I can’t hear anything except the sound of the waves breathing down my neck.

You kneel at my feet, where you belong, offering me a cup with a touch of kindness. As our hands briefly meet, I lower my sunglasses, allowing you to see the smile that reaches my eyes so you know I mean it, despite the darkened bags beneath them in the sunlight. With a whispered “thank you,” I take a sip, only to swallow the grit of sand you’ve placed in the cup.

I don’t want to grant you the satisfaction of my discomfort, I swallow without betraying my realization. It’s only later, in the quiet of my bathroom, that I cough it up, clutching the edges of the mirror. Through my blurred vision, all I can discern is the streak of teary eyeliner tracing down my face. I can’t even recognize myself but I know I’m stubborn and you exploit that until my skin burns with rashes worse than the sun could ever. Even months later, I still find myself coughing up bits of sand.

for days, I craved for something perfect, a sweetness to linger on my tongue, a memory to savor for days. I wanted it to shake me up so bad I wouldn’t forget how it tasted even when I haven’t had it in months. I experimented with all kinds of sweeteners—powdered, brown, molasses, even cubes—but none satisfied that bitter feeling in my throat. then, I found it, that perfect sweetness. It became my obsession, seeped into every crevice of my day, in the morning with my coffee to the evening with my tea. People told me it was no good, that I’ll eventually die from heart ache. But, it was simple, easy to swallow. I didn’t have to wrap my head around it. but one afternoon, I realized I didn’t like it anymore when I couldn’t get it past my mouth without feeling the urge to throw up. I felt my gums rot and panic set in as I faced the need for something new. in my desperation, I tossed the sugar into a pot, I tried to fix the hurt by making the old into new, but it stuck stubbornly to the pan and there was no coming back from it.