See the truth is, I love you.
But loving you causes too much pain, so I must learn to love myself instead.

I want to kiss the girl of my dreams
but every time our lips meet
I wake up








I would do anything to never wake up

One day, I will wake up with the dreadful realization that I have spent my youth following the rules of my strict, conservative, religious parents.
And despite my love for them, I will look back at my teenage years reliving one mistake. Dating a boy who used me.
I would have learned from that mistake. I would have grown form it.

But I will still look back, wondering why I haven't gone out as much. Why I stopped making friends. Why I never partied. Why I never did anything spontaneous. Why the night before dyeing my hair purple I decided to cancel my appointment so I could avoid facing the disapproval from my parents. Once again.

It is hard to be the child of a dyeing nation.
A nation that is glorified for pride and honor.
But where sexism and homophobia exists.

I will remain the brown haired girl that stays at home and studies on a Friday night. That spends her Saturdays reading books about the life she will never experience. Hoping that she dies before realizing that her life has been a waste.

Sparks of joy fill my eyes when I see you, and I get a sudden urge,
a want,
a need,
to pull you into my arms and never let you go.
To kiss you endlessly, to hold onto your body, to feel your warmth, to smell your perfume, to caress your skin, to play with your hair...
Oh, what I'd give to be with you...

I would like to let you go, but my mind is filled with thoughts of you. If I go a day without thinking of you, you appear in my dreams.

There is simply no escaping you.

You have full control over my life, and I proceed to live with you in
my memories, my hopes, my dreams.
Or perhaps they are nightmares? For I don't truly want to see you.

And so I ask, I beg, I pray
that You let me go instead.

Three years have passed, and yet I'm still trapped inside your big, loving, suffocating arms.
And I still can't decide if I want you to let go, or hold tighter.
Truth is, I can breathe all the same. I just don't know if the air satisfies me anymore.

Where is the line between life and death? And why can't we just cross it whenever we want?
Can a person be on the line? Both dead and alive? Or neither dead nor alive?
Why are we threatened with hell when we simply want the pain to end?