lemiserable

obsession is one of the most infuriating things i've watched in a long time because never have i come across a main character who is as much a loser as bear. nikki literally gives this man an opening to confess and him being such a fucking moron, denies it and then decides the next logical step is to make a wish for her to like him back. bitch are you in fucking high school? what the fuck are we even doing here???

the worst part of this movie is when nikki is literally begging to be freed from the nightmare he's trapped her in, this absolute clown has the audacity to ask, "is it so bad being with me?" tf do you think bro? she literally tells you that she has never been with you. even in this situation, knowing whatever has happened till now, he's still caught up in this pathetic "woe is me" spiral instead of accepting that this shit is fucking messed up.

i can be objective enough to admit that there was probably a point in my life where i was enough of a loser that i might've fantasized about something similar.

but I'm not fucking 15 anymore.

if you can't ask someone out, congratulations buddy, you now get to experience one of the oldest human traditions: yearning. do it like everyone else. write shitty poetry. stare at the ceiling at 2 a.m. listen to depressing music. get rejected. move the fuck on.

don't ruin everyone else's lives because you couldn't say one sentence. even when you had the chance to, dumbfuck.

although, the party scene gave me skin crawling cringe, i also kind of laughed during it. till i didn't.

just watched the drama. and it made me think about the concept of "loving someone despite their flaws". the drama starts off as your regular girl meets boy meet cute story and ends up making you think about selective empathy and what if you find out something shitty about your partner that they did in the past. hell, even the present. and how do you deal with it? or come to terms with it?

it forces us to rethink how we look at forgiveness and acceptance. especially in the age of social media and the internet. without spoiling too much- it explores who truly gets the benefit of the doubt? who truly gets to have a second chance? to start over again.

can we look past the supposed shortcomings of the people we love? what does loving someone truly mean? when we talk about accepting someone's flaws and as they are, where do we draw the line? if love is radical acceptance, how radical can it be before it gets out of hand?

i am still a raw nerve pretending to be a person,

still asking the same question—

are you going to leave me,

or do i get to breathe today?

everything hurts louder.

love doesn’t knock for me,

it crashes. and burns.

affection feels like oxygen

and absence feels like drowning.

there is no middle ground,

only altar or abandonment.

i don’t attach to people.

i fuse.

i disappear into them and call it closeness,

call it safety,

until their smallest distance feels like amputation.

my body prepares for loss before my mind can intervene.

my emotions don’t rise;

they detonate.

anger scorches.

sadness floods.

joy burns so bright

it feels unsafe to stand inside it.

i am either too much or not real at all.

i fear abandonment the way others fear death—

instinctively, irrationally, with my whole body braced for impact.

so i cling.

or i run first.

i destroy before i can be discarded.

i leave so it hurts less when they inevitably do.

loving me means loving someone

who is constantly trying not to disappear.

someone who doesn’t trust permanence

because nothing inside them has ever stayed still.

and yet—

there is devotion here.

a terrifying, bone-deep loyalty.

i would bleed for you without being asked to.

i often do.

borderline is survival in a body that never learned safety.

it is a child still screaming inside an adult chest,

begging not to be left alone with their thoughts.

so i learn to live quietly with the ache.

and i stop asking to be held the way i need,

that's what true horror is, in the end. isn't it? the idea that this is all there is to it. you will never get to live the life you want to. the ideal life is nothing short of a tv show, and you're the only viewer. it all plays out nicely in your head. a nice dream scenario to fall asleep to.

but reality is different. in real life, there is no curtain call. you're always performing for someone else. till you don't know when you stop and the character begins.

the terrifying idea of being Found Out scares you till you kill all the parts of you that bring you joy. you bury it somewhere deep, refusing to bring it out. some nights, you can hear it scream and claw and reach out for help but it's nothing that more dirt can't fix. it's safer to dig the hole deeper than to finally breathe sometimes.

you knew this wasn't how it's supposed to feel but you've always been terrified of feeling any other way. it can't hurt you if you don't think about it so you don't. and then someone tells you that there's time. there will always be time. but you know it's already too late for you.

and so you resign yourself to live the life that you're forced to live. a life only reserved for other people's viewing pleasures.

maybe this is your way of holding on to things now. maybe nostalgia involves not having to vacuum for days now. you wonder if all this flying dirt might be parts of someone else that they left the last time you let them into your home.

maybe this is why old dust covered things always made you feel like reminiscing. because it's covered with memories. of things that once existed, breathing and laughing and crying and anger and all. now exist as nothing more than a chore; only to end up on a dirty cloth.

you look at the streetlight in front of you, there's so much of those dead skin cell dust flying around—infinite lives left behind; infinite parts of ourselves just flying around.

and to think that we try so hard to have ourselves engraved in other people's minds when most of our parts are left behind in a thousand different places as nothing but pollution.

your child is throwing up dinner in the washroom after choking on smoke. are u still proud of me? can u still see potential in me?

dear papa,

they're letting me go and I'm letting myself go too. tell me, would u still see ur future in this failure of a child.

dear ma,

i love a girl. will u still love me? tell me, is this why you want to rummage into my closet? trying to find the hope you had for me amongst all the unworn clothes and skin?

dear papa,

i want to be like you. i cut my cheek once on your razor. do you still think I'm worthy to carry ur dreams on my shoulders?

i want to fail, without failing anyone else. i want to exist in my loss without losing everyone's faith in me.