to write;

There are days and days when I don't feel to write. Don't feel to do the only thing I love to do. It is saddening, a lot, but what could a person do. 

You can't try to force yourself to write because a fear of what if you lose interest in it, what if you lose that part of you that you cherished so much, hangs on like a useless thread in your head. You even can't write rubbish, because well, it is rubbish. 

And then I call myself a writer. It is a confusing prompt, a dead end story. But life can't be a dead end sort of thing, I like to live afterall. Right?

So, on one day as such, I thought about writing a blog. But was my life even interesting to write about it? I still wrote a blog. Erased it 8 times and rewrote. Posted it and took it off the next day. But writing shouldn't make you feel 'not worth it', so I gave up erasing and posted the blog finally.

Now, not like it did great, not like it is doing great now. But somehow it did something to push me to write every month (for three months). 

Then I gave up on the blog because I didn't like sticking onto a topic which I was not sure I am even allowed to write about, of course it felt weird to write about how you are in love with your best friend. But then "stuff" happened and I could write about him with all rights. (YAYAYAY)

But mostly, what bought me happiness was I could write - not lines, not jumbled up thoughts that I promised myself to turn into poem which were then forgotten and least thought about - but actual real writings that felt ever so perfect for me. 

Maybe it was the little push I was given when I fell in love, or maybe it was the part of me which loved the return of the writer me, but whatever it was, I am glad that I could reunite with the me I thought I lost.

Of course I might not be the smartest or the funniest or the person with millions of views or the only one to write, but all that I am, comes to me by heart as a reflex instead of a strategic move. And for all, I would appreciate myself for it. 

So, maybe just let go writing for once and let it find it's own way to you because at last, the 'writer' in one, can't make a exit any time soon.

is to know that you are alive, with emotions;

Love, 17.


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if anyone finds me looking at him starry eyed, throw something at me

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I am not in love. I swear. Not with my male best friend, at least.  But me not being in love would not justify why he is acting too much like a boyfriend, protective I mind you, and very delicate. Which is quite unlike when his first words of the day would be, quote un-quote, 'argh, can't you be absent for a day? I am desperate for peace in my life'. Now that would be old news because now he is, well, too happy that I am there.  Ironic, but the guy who, once upon a time, used to push and scrawl at me when I touched his hair for fun, is now touching my cheeks, ears, hair, eyes and arms like he has seen them for the first time. What makes it more awkward is, my so-called friend likes him. And that silly guy, unaware of her sharp eyes when he is with me, touches my shoulders in the most non- 'just best friends' way. After which I have to give her a confirmation about me not dating him.  Sure, I got butterflies every time he touched me thinking I would not care. I do. E...
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in the way of life, I have found someone who will flourish it

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  Maybe I have finally learnt the most beautiful way to live. What is it you say? Being in love. With him, with myself, with the little things that make me smile, and this life.   I wonder how my favourite words now are 'exist' and 'live' to write in a poem, when all I wrote was how death captivated the best of me, how I wish this all ended and many more which didn't at all coincide with living. But I am not surprised. It is just as if I knew that when he would come by, living would just get more pleasant than before, and not merely surviving and trying to ' live '.  As though, loving him was just continued over all my previous lives and when I knew him, I knew that it was love. Because it has to. At most, when this love found me, it would have found me alive, but when it took a hold of me, it must have seen me rise to live. Live with his smiles, with him having his arms around me, with this new found feeling of letting go things and holding onto just which ...
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when the skies clear up, you might know to let go

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I WANT TO DIE. And joking would quite literally not be the right word. It was all and all an innocent- cough - not so innocent friendship, but maybe things do change. I don't know how much exactly they changed because I am back again where I was 2 years ago. Where was I? In my world where he would love me, hoping that it not end with an alarm ring. But time and time, it became more difficult.  My friend liked him. And people pleasers don't let go a friend for a boy. And getting to know this when I prepared myself to tell him how I feel, would just be the straw that broke the camel's back. I did tell him who I liked though - His best friend. Before any of this got cleared up, my whole section knew about my 'much interested' crush.  Day by day, I left thinking about him. He started dating someone. I started dating too. How did that go? Ahem, get me a drink to hear that. (I don't drink, thus it will be a secret forever) But in all this mess, why am I dragged to squ...
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