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Rinse and repeat

There was a time I believed I was happy. Once, I could say the word and it lit the room like a small lamp. Back then, happiness wore no label and needed no defense. It hovered at the back of my throat, drifted through my head. I knew it when it came. I didn’t need a cat video to coax a laugh or a pint of vanilla to bribe a smile. Happiness wasn’t something I held; it held me. It was the lightness of a small camping chair set on a shy strip of shore, no one around—only the water’s hush, birds stitching the air, the wind sweeping the rest away. And I knew it would pass. Nothing keeps forever, they say, don’t they? Even as I floated, some part of me counted the seconds to its leaving. I feared I would lose it before I could taste it whole, like a fruit snatched clean from my palm. I lived as if in a trance—the world could burn and I would still be suspended in that nameless calm—and threaded through it was a whisper: hold your horses, you fool; this will end. So I kept circling the same t...
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My Sunshine

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today the sky looked like a clean shirt, the kettle sounded happy, the door clicked right, and you were the reason. it’s ordinary and that’s the best part. i feel steady when you’re here i love you in the morning, after lunch, and when the lights are off. thank you for being my favorite simple fact.
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I think I am at the stage where I don't really give a shit about what's happening around me. I'm not saying that I have tons of money to ditch work and whatnot — heck, I'm laden with debts that even breathing feels like a labor. I can't say that I am depressed, and I can't say that I am not. It's just... life feels static and running at 200 miles an hour at the same time. Living feels like being in a void. In a limbo. In a constant loop of uncertainty. At times, I feel like crying. And most of the time, I struggle to find a single reason to cry. After all, you can't just cry, can you? There's a deep wanting to let go. To blow off steam. But if I can't tell what's the pressure that's been brewing inside me, how could I vent it off? I just don't understand. Maybe it's the loneliness. Maybe age is starting to knock some sense into my head. I just don't have the answers. And if you may excuse me, I have some weeping to do. Goodbye...
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Once

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Your convenience

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That was the problem, wasn't it? You left home. But you never did become an adult. Not really. You just fucked up in different and more complicated ways.
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Almost

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Almost. It slips off the tongue like a sigh, a word so small it shouldn't hold so much weight. But it does. It sits heavy in my chest, a stone lodged in the place where dreams used to bloom. I built my life on almosts, sturdy little houses made of "what ifs" and "maybes." Almost graduated top of my class, almost married the man who swore he'd love me forever, almost held a child in my arms. Each one a promise whispered on the wind, then snatched away like a cruel game. And the worst part? The worst part is how they steal your future. You get so caught up in the almosts, the shimmering mirages of what could have been, that you forget how to live in the present. You become a ghost in your own life, watching as real happiness dances past, just out of reach. Perhaps, almost is the saddest word there is.
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Revisiting Shay

It was an odd day. Maybe it was because the clouds looked different or because I wore mismatched socks. I’m not really sure. I stood in front of Shay, the room smelling slightly of old books and maybe a bit of lemon cleaner. Shay had a beard that seemed like it hadn’t been brushed for days, but it made him look interesting, not messy. It reminded me of the scruffy dog I once saw at the park. We were supposed to chat about usual things, maybe the new movie or the book I was reading. But my mouth had its own plan. I told Shay the biggest secret I had, the one that had been piling up inside me like lego bricks. The secret about how I felt about him. He looked surprised, like when someone gives you a present on a day that’s not your birthday. For a really long time, he just stood there. The old clock on the wall kept ticking, and a bird outside the window was singing, probably to another bird. Then, Shay finally talked. “You know, I always thought secrets were like lost socks. They’re hidd...
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