this is a blog of a silly sixteen year old girl. 

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reminiscing.

The memories I have with him Hits me like a wave. A wave of sadness Washes over me Depriving me of my  Temporary joy. A wave of hope  Washes over me I reminisce about  The laughter, the cries The tears flowing through my eyes. Hands intertwined, His eyes looking into mine, So loving, so affectionate. His lips crashing into mine, The sweetness of his lips. The bittersweet flavour, Of his broken heart  Flowing into mine. I had known him  For only a fortnight, Yet it felt like a lifetime. My lover . He was all mine, Until it all tore down. My castle, my fortress My love, my muse Destroyed. Stolen away from me. And maybe he’ll find someone Perhaps better than me Who shall make him happy Happier than I did. And I’ll wait at the porch for his arrival A ray of hope still glimmering, Seeping through the cracks of my heart  Waiting. That's what I’m best at.              ...
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At the pier, Waiting for an apology

I stand there  Waiting For someone’s arrival. I'm the only passenger on this empty airport Waiting for a flight That’s never to arrive. I stand at the pier Waiting for you to arrive To give me back my lost childhood An apology. My feet benumbed I become a part of the soil Waiting for your arrival That's long overdue. I stand at the pier Waiting for your solicitude Just an acknowledgement  From your side For the faint of my heart. I keep telling myself  That one day, Maybe just one day That I'll be waiting at the pier And you'll finally arrive And this time  There won't be a dagger into my heart An apology Will finally arrive And make it worth the while.                
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my first everything.

People (or maybe just me) don’t self harm in the hopes that it would somehow kill them. It's an outlet. The way the blood escapes, feels like the emotional burden is let out from the insides which were trapped since the last century even though I'm only sixteen—I don't know anything. Loving him was the easiest thing I had done. It came naturally to me—like breathing. The way he described the things that hurt him broke my heart. He had the most beautiful soul, fortresses so high, cages deep, armor that he deemed as unbreakable—yet he let me in, if only for a brief instance; his heart became my secret garden, the place I would escape into when the world got too loud. He made me feel like I was lovable. The way he used to wait out for me each day, the way he caressed my silly injury—the power his soft touch had on me was greater than any medical miracle. The way he was so gentle with my fragile, glass-like heart—bewildering me with the kindness I had witnessed for the first ti...
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