i still loathe everyone, i seek the strange in mundane things, i love handwritten letters and doodling on corner pages, i still believe i'm destined for greater things; i still believe it will get better.

i'm constantly wishing i could go back in time and be kinder to myself. growing up, as each year goes by, i feel as though i'm losing myself and growing into whoever i'm supposed to be simultaneously. each year, i'm reminded of what once was and never will be again.

when i was 14, i would fantasize about my death, specifically from my own doing. i believed my death had to derive from my own will and my own hands. i'm 23 now and, unexpectedly, my uncle died last year. three days before my mother's birthday. five days before christmas.

i never thought about death so much, so frequently, so casually.

i've developed an actual fear of death now. how it comes so suddenly and unexpectedly. like a glass cup slipping from your hands. i think i fantasizing of taking my own life for so long was because of my desire for control over my own self. growing up and coming to terms with being a real person was such a difficult process for me to endure when i was 14. i was itching for an escape; a relief. i was so blinded by an otherwise beautiful reality right in front of me. being 14 and being able to experience this world through this being's eyes.

i won't be able to share a morning with my uncle ever again.

i won't be able to see my mother's eyes shimmer with joy at the sight of her brother.