#blossomfully

Being in your twenties is feeling like time is running out / wanting to do something with your life but not knowing what / is like falling in love and not knowing whether it will last / because the last time it didn’t / is getting pangs of emotions you thought you’d left behind when you turned 19 / is rewatching cartoons at 1am and realising you missed so many of the jokes as a kid / is romanticising tiny apartments / or any space to call your own / is reaching out to old friends / with no good excuse / is getting on a plane for a second chance / and finally forgiving because now you understand / is unravelling and not knowing if it means you’ll disappear / and losing faith and believing in fate and whispering clichés, head pressed into a pillow one weekend, hoping

In the debris of my heart, was written the reason why I kept my head above the water. Now I’m trying not to swallow the kitchen knives despite the abundance of love. An act of violence, bruises passed down like family heirlooms, so close to loving someone. It’s terrifying. They say a name kept under the tongue becomes blood. So I hold a revolver to my memories. “you know I’m always going to love you” says a voicemail. If I drown in sadness, is it suicide?