Living.

This is all exhausting. Being an avid smoker, and a potential alcoholic, I stopped to think: how did I get here? I thought if it was the loneliness from when I was a kid, but back then it was the internet. Maybe it was being left out in secondary school, there's alcohol there, but back then it was self isolation. Maybe it was having my secrets all out to the public, but that was a bottle of sleeping pills. Maybe it was going after my passion, but that was an exacto knife. Maybe it was for having a passion, but that is what keeps me alive and hoping for the better. Maybe it was hoping for the better too much, yeah, maybe that was it. And maybe not being passionate enough brought me here, foggy mind and black lungs that fill up with water. And as I see myself, not just in mirrors, but in the clothes I wore, the people I somehow affected in any way possible, the hundreds of artworks and letters scattered across my bedroom walls, in the blood that coagulated in my arms, in the butt of a cigarette, in the smoke I eventually blow out, in the bottom of a whiskey cup, I can't help but wonder: if I let it enough, can the water from my lungs come out through my eyes?

This morning I read something among the lines of "love is an act to be taken kneeling". And so I started thinking about how I am able to love you in such devotion. Devoted in a way that your sayings fill up my walls, be it the ones of my room or the ones in my mind. It's the way every heartbeat of mine is a prayer to be a step closer. And the way your (or our) belongings sit anywhere mixed between mine. So I'll kneel at the edge of my bed, hands clasped tightly, and I'll be so deep into this pleading, and my faith will be so strong, that for a moment, the hands I'll be clasping will be yours instead of my own.

I'm actually about to crumble down to the floor because why is every single thing in my life about love and why is every single thing about love also about you

The warm air clashes with the cool breeze that passes through me. I love you. Laying down on a hammock appreciating the lullabies of the crickets and nighty birds, I long for your shoulder next to mine. I love you. Swinging side to side, we ignore the rain droplets that fall upon us. I love you. Tonight we make memories that will last our whole lives. I love you.

The nights now have this odd breeze to them, when the air smells funny and warm, but the wind that flows feels cold, but just enough to make me comfortable. It's during this time of the year where I feel the most nostalgic, because the breeze tastes the same as 8 years ago, when innocence was at its prime. Time passed, I'm now not so naive, and more sorrowful, but still curious about nearly everything. Nights like these make my mind race the same as my heart, aching for the earth that sits below my feet, not a single word spoken just to hear the cicada's whispers. Unknowingly, I think about you; even if I don't know if it matters.

The last couple of months have been so so so so so SO crazy that I don't even know how to begin writing this... Ultimately, I feel heartbroken. Sunk deep into this feeling of grief over what could have been. The days are beautiful, with huge towers of clouds and a breeze that already smells like summer nostalgia; it's shameful how unable to enjoy these things my mind has made me. Everything feels stagnant, more of the same, and I'm so sick of it. It's so damn hard to stay alive during times like this, where everything seems to be against your will to live. But I've been trying. Despite, despite despite.

On these last couple of days, I have been waiting a significantly larger amount of time before closing my windows for the night. The wind sounds through my curtains and fills my home with the scent from the night, the smell of the moon and the stars. That same air brushes against my tired skin, staining it with moonflowers and howls. With my windows open, the twilight hugs me, and I am eager to hold her back, opening up space for her in the dark rooms where I reside.

So I was letting my mind wander off in thought, when something came to my mind: in various situations, whether it be on real life or some sort of media, there's this scene of like "the moment that I saw your eyes I knew I was in love with you" and that would never sit right with me. Because I did not fall in love with your eyes there, in fact, your eyes were just a pretty normal set of sighters for me. But then I started looking deeper into those same eyes, and getting to know, not all, but still a fraction of what those pupils had seen. And in the moment that I gaze deep into your sight, and see not only the color of your iris, but the sea, the leaves, the sunlight and the tears that washed upon those pupils, that will be the moment I'll fall in love.

So I've been thinking a lot about this friend of mine she's trans (ftm), and used her social name everywhere. She talked to me during a period wich we wouldn't see eachother everyday, so I had no clue what was going on. She lives in a not-so-small small town, where its small enough to be considered small, but big enough to not know from where originally an information came from. Turns out someone told her (a friend, I suppose) that there was a person threatening to kill her, all because she's trans. She then told about the decision she made, to "go back inside the closet", afraid something might happen to her. And she did. Of course I respect her and what motivated her to do this, and feel so so sorry for her. Now I feel as I've got to know another part of her soul, something that's now being kept away. This whole situation made me think about "I saw the TV glow", wich I haven't watched yet, but saw a lot of comments about. So I started wondering if it's really worth it embracing who you are, just to be in constant danger, if it's worth it prioritizing safety over freedom and stick to the shadows forever, "is it better to speak or to die?". To me, embracing whoever you are means deeper than just that, it's a symbol of resistance, a symbol of the decisions you took despite the dangers of so. And we're back to the starting point: is it really worth it? Would you rather be safe and locked in the cage of your own body (or mind), or free, but somehow always be taking a risk. The truth is that, for some, they'll forever have to hide, no matter the decisions you make. So would you rather die heavy, on the dark or die knowing you at least got to experience light?

I have just one overall wish for life: to be the weirdest and most off putting person I can be (its my true self)

recently, everythings been hitting at me like a hurricane, or like a shotgun. it doesnt really matter when speaking (writing) about the chaos. a lot of things happened at the same time to leave me both physically and mentally exausted. its lonelier than ever out here, making it harder each day to stay hopeful. its been awlful. i feel awlful. and this pressuring feeling of being stuck in a place not able to do anything about any of the situations i found myself into. i did great for a while in the past, but now i watch myself drowning into old habits from an even further past. i hate to be feeling like this again, to spend more time each morning pondering to get out of bed. this feelings of loneliness, emptiness that eat me alive, inside out as a disease that comes deep within the heart. i miss not being so alone. i miss not feeling as if im a monstrosity, a beast. i miss being me.

Every creation of mine is title-less, be it a poem, a drawing or a painting (or my essays from 9th grade), it's always hard for me to title them. My teacher once said the title is meant to summarize the piece in few words, but how am I able to sum up such feelings that not even pages and pages of the most beautiful metaphors can express? How to name a creation that overflows with sentiment?(If a heart had its own name, that would probably be it.)

This is an open letter for someone. I really hope that you can someday acknowledge that I truly loved you, because I truly did, and still do. But even after our time, it's still unsure if it was mutual. I hope you're feeling better, or even relieved, now that you left to "live your life" without me as a dead weight tied around your ankles. I would beg you to stay, I would ask you to come here and "break my heart properly" just like you wrote on your (equally) mediocre and sometimes even stolen pieces of text; but the fix it's much easier when there's only a half-broken heart. I truly hope you're feeling great after doing exactly what we promised not to, I hope you're feeling nice after shoving me out of your heart and mind (again). If you're even reading this, you'll know.

If you know me enough (wich you probably dont) It eventually comes to a topic where you find out I actually am one of those artists who handmake things to people, but stopped doing so. In my defense: I still do love It, but It Just felt like It wasnt being so appreciated. But today, however, I can find myself drawing roses on a paper to gift it to a person. It honestly feels so weird but so good that my heart can inflate and come out my chest anytime. Its been so so long since I last did this but I guess its a side of me that was waiting for the perfect time to come back after so much time being kept in the shadows

Ive been seeing a lot of sunrises lately, and yesterday while It rained at the end of the evening the whole world seemed to have a yellowish tint to It. Also, things have been great! Despite this weight of a longing that went seem to leave my chest these days. But thats the point of living I guess. To live, to long and to ache