Tee

We were always meant to thrive in the places we didn't belong so we could create a home for us. We weren't handed over things because nobody ever knew what we would like, or had the courage to impose their aspirations on us. We were always meant for more, which is why we were left in wild. To wander, to get lost and to find a place and make a mark. To create our own territory. Our own sanctuary.

Flowing falling can't stop waiting for you

Breaking down the old version and embracing the possibility of a better you is excruciating and nobody talks about it enough. Imagine leaving what you once thought was your home forever and never looking back because it stopped you from seeing the world.

Life's such a tragedy with people more tragic. If there's no one around you, you're lonely. If there's someone around and aren't there for you, you're lonelier. That push and pull; it's so exhausting. But leaving? Even scarier.

You texted me, as i was writing a poem for you in my dairy. You come back home always even when you have no reason to. Tell me, how can I not hope for more. How can I not believe in the myths of meant to be.

I cry, wail and fall in despair. I look around for hands to hold me, alas there aren't any. Agony so deep and the wound so large, all I seek for a love so innocent, tender, my love, see me. I love you. With all my shattered heart.

He showed me the sweetness of what I could be, and slapped me with what I am. Lord, you asked me to be a dreamer and so I was. But you never told me dreaming is a curse. That you cursed me. Tell me, how can I have faith in you when you willingly pushed me off the cliff?

I envy every single one of them who's ever had the chance to be near you, to hear you laugh and see your smile. To touch you and feel you on them. The jealousy I feel has no bounds because I know, I know nobody reveres you as much as I do. And to think it's me who's not in your proximity kills me everytime.

I'd rather suffer in silence with questions of "what if" than to face the reality of us happening. The thought seems so far fetched, and for it to happen seems like a cruel fantasy luring me with hope and faith.