Honey Angel Blogs

You have been for quite some time.

Fully surrendered to my blues,

I thought I might get consumed

By the enormity of my desire for you to be mine.

Something you never would be

The reason not nearly as tragic as I'd hope

Star-crossed lovers and twists of fate

No, it just didn't happen.

I feared this feeling might last forever

But I woke up this morning,

Looked up at the blue sky,

Warm sunlight caressed my cheeks

As it dawned on me,

It just didn't happen

That's all there is to it.

I, so desperately, want answers,

Like a child, my heart whines

I want to ask why,

I want to ask what happened,

Or what changed your mind,

But I'll just let you live.

Days go by,

Your memory is fainter with each sunrise,

But what I feel for you only seems to be growing in the distance—

The more I push it down, the more it overflows.

I don't know where to put it all,

So I let myself drown in it,

For maybe when your memory fills my lungs,

Replacing the air,

I'd feel you again

And for a brief moment,

I'd know you more than I ever did before.

Until finally I meet my end as the happiest woman that's ever existed,

Engulfed by you.

And when the last few bubbles of air exit my body,

They will echo my feelings for you,

Releasing them into a vast ocean where they will live on forever,

And every time it rains,

I'll get to touch you again.

I like reading and writing, both of which I do not do nearly as often as I'd like to. I have the bad habit of treating them like homework. For example, if I wanted to journal, I'd need to sit down comfortably in bed in fresh pyjamas, have dimmed lights, have nice ambient music, and be in a relaxed state. Only then can I actually start writing, and by that time, I wouldn't even be thinking about what I wanted to write anymore. I would stare at the fresh page before me, racking my brain trying to remember what I wanted to write, and if I did have something to write, I'd go over it hundreds of times in my mind before putting pen to paper so that it may be a perfectly written passage. That is not what journaling should feel like. I want to be able to write anywhere, at any time, whether it's in public, at work, in class, or at home at random times, but oh, the fear of being cringe! 

I constantly see the same reminder on the internet, "Make bad art!!" and I couldn't agree more, but when it comes to actually creating, I feel as though mine needs to be perfect. I know that I am chasing an unattainable goal. I constantly tell myself that a bad draft existing is better than no draft at all, but it is so hard to do so when I re-read the extract multiple times until the words stop making sense. I feel as though I am merely observing my own self from an outside perspective, as a highly critical being, instead of actually living. I am constantly thinking about how I look (my outfit, presentation, and how I am behaving) and how to be better. I constantly worry about how I am perceived, even though when I am amidst people, I am not this critical of anyone, which begs the question: is anyone really thinking that much of me, or am I assuming that these details matter more than they actually do? Of course, they do matter to some extent, but there is so much more to a person than their outfit. 

Maybe instead of trying to become better, I need to start thinking about how to be free. Free to write when I want, where I want, and how I want, free to live without giving too much importance to the wrong details, and free to just exist without worrying about perfection. 

And reading!! Oh, how I love to read, and yet, I barely read lately. I need to create the perfect setup for it, too; then I usually just end up scrolling on my phone instead. I want to read, but I feel like my brain is mushy and I constantly have a headache, and I have no one else to blame for it but myself and my screentime. I do not want to look back at my youth in regret and realise that out of fear of not being perfect, I haven't done anything.