valentine’s day came and went,
but i barely noticed—
too busy drowning in a loneliness
i can’t even name.

you know, we never meant
for taylor swift’s “daylight”
to become our song,
but it did.
first, it was your golden brown eyes,
then every lyric felt like us.
i guess it’s not ours anymore—
now, it’s yours and hers.
but i can’t help thinking,
we had it first.

when we were younger,
we made promises.
“BFFs” we’d say,
a vow inked in laughter,
and whispered secrets,
a place of unbreakable bonds
in world still discovering its limits.  

the word “forever” rolled off our tongues
like an incantation
a spell against time,
an assurance that never would our paths diverge.
we clung to it
with a sort of youthful certainty.

in its shimmering glow,
everything felt possible,
every challenge conquerable,
every storm a passing shadow.
but as the years went by,
and we navigate the labyrinth of growing up,
the syllables shift,
settle into a new rhythm,
“Best friend.”

we type “bsf” into our phones.
something not as final,
not as bold,
but softer,
more nuanced.
we understand now
that forever is a fragile promise,
a truth that shifts
with the winds of change.

our laughter still echoes,
but the landscape has transformed,
now a map of our lives,
marked by detours and revelations.
and so, “bsf”
becomes a testament to the present,
to our current moment,
to the growing spaces
where we meet,
where we still hold each other in our hearts.
not forever, but for now.

even as we drop the “forever”,
its warmth still lingers.
the name may have softened,
but the bond is undiminished,
a testimony to time,
where “forever” and “now”
blend into a single, unbroken thread.

i wish the air smelled
like summer did four years ago.
chlorine and asphalt after rain,
sunburnt skin and something sweet.

i spend each winter
longing for those days.
but when summer comes,
it never quite fits right,
like a song i used to love
but can’t remember the lyrics to.

my summers are okay now
but they feel like echoes,
fading, distant,
never loud enough
to drown out the missing.

i used to love this,
the way it made my heart hum,
the way it pulled the light from shadows
and turned the world gold.

but now, it feels like a weight,
not because it changed,
but because they did.
their words are needles,
their glances, razors.
i’m unraveling, thread by thread.

i cry in corners no one sees,
choking on the bitterness of it all.
they took something pure,
something mine,
and turned it into a battlefield
i’m too tired to fight in.

i want to walk away,
but my feet are rooted in the soil of before,
when it still felt like home,
when it was still love.
am i strong enough to let go?
or will i let them steal it all?

i am a mosaic of everyone i’ve loved,
each broken piece a color, a hue,
a story of joy, a tale of pain,
and every loss leaves something new.

happiness isn’t just joy alone;
it’s the quiet absence of sorrow’s reign,
where love and heartache learn to rest,
a harmony born from loss and gain.

each face, each voice, a part of me,
etched in the lines that shape my grin.
they linger still, like whispered songs,
even as other lives begin.

to love is to carry a thousand hearts,
to hold the light that others leave,
and even when they’re out of sight,
they stay, like shadows that softly weave.

even in endings, warmth remains,
like embers that glow long after fire.
a mosaic formed of love and ache,
of fleeting joy and desire.

for happiness is not untouched,
but woven from threads of loss and grace,
a way to gather the pieces whole,
and find the light in every space.

i wear the grades like a mask,
convincing everyone but myself.
even in the things i love,
it feels like someone else’s hands
are moving through me,
creating things i don’t deserve.

when will they notice?
when will i?

i always know it’s getting bad
when i start chewing on the tie of my sweatshirt.
i think it’s called an
aglet,
but all i know is,
it’s fraying like
me.

something about me—
i am full of love,
though it spills unevenly,
pooling in places
that were never meant to hold it.

i am not an optimist,
but i will always cradle someone’s pain,
even when my arms shake,
even when my chest cracks open
to make room for the weight of it.

i forgive easily,
though my memory is stubborn,
carving scars where kindness once rested.
it gets hard—
so hard—
when my love is unreturned,
when it is a whisper in a storm,
or a hand reaching for nothing.

but i will always stay,
always say,
“be who you are,
even if it costs me
a piece of myself.”

i feel things deeply—
every joy, every wound—
and i carry them,
because being human
is not just surviving the hurt
but finding the strength
to keep loving anyway.

there’s a quiet kind of grief
in wanting to scream but choosing silence,
in driving nowhere just to feel the road
pull you back into your body.

some days, my reflection feels like a stranger,
a ghost of who i thought i’d become.
other days, i’m just tired—
of waiting for apologies
that won’t come,
of remembering things that didn’t end right,
of waking up hoping
it might feel different.

there’s a heaviness in holding on
to people who’ve already let you go,
a hollowness in pretending
you don’t feel the gap
where they used to be.
but even in the absence,
you play their songs like prayers—
a melody to make the pain
feel like it belongs to someone else.

the summer air was thick with goodbyes,
and you left before fall could call us back.
i watched you go, a piece of me in your hands,
like sand slipping through my grasp.

they say time heals, but it just aches,
the empty halls, the spaces you filled,
a silence where laughter used to be;
a shadow of all we built.

i count the days, but you feel far,
like a star faded from the sky.
i’m here, stuck between missing you
and trying to learn how to say goodbye.

is this what growing up is like?
losing a piece of myself,
over and over?
because if so,
i don’t want to anymore.

i felt
happy
today

i will not
let myself
ruin it

have you ever been so nervous
you felt your ribs were closing in,
your lungs trapped in their embrace,
each breath a desperate thief, stealing air?

have you ever been so nervous
your hands forgot their purpose,
shaking like leaves in a storm,
fingers betraying your will?

your stomach twists—
a knot that tightens with no end.
your heart, relentless,
beats faster than it should,
as if it’s running from itself.

you tell yourself to calm down.
you tell yourself it’s nothing.
but nothing feels this heavy,
nothing feels this alive,
this threatening to consume.

have you ever been so nervous
you thought, just for a moment,
that it might swallow you whole—
and you wouldn’t even fight it?

when he leans in
i can feel the weight of his want
his lips brush mine
and all i can think of is escape

it’s not his fault
not the way he cradles my face
nor the way his hands
search for a piece of me
i wish wasn’t there

i love him, i think
but love feels heavy when
it meets the mirror
i’ve spent years avoiding
his eyes are soft
but i don’t want them to see

i pull away
make excuses out of thin air
like smoke that lingers
and betrays the flame
he asks if something is wrong
and i wish i could answer

when i kiss him
i try to love him
but the hardest battle
is loving the body
he thinks belongs to me

i need help but it feels impossible to ask

i’ve been pretending to be okay all day but all i can think about is cutting

i want to stop bleeding,
but the only one who’d understand
is the reason i start again.
there’s no one left to hold the weight
but me, and i’m so tired.

you said you didn’t understand me
because you can’t think of a reason i should be sad for.
how do i explain depression
to someone who only knows sunlight,
whose heart has never grown heavy with rain,
who has never felt the weight of nothing at all?

you can’t understand,
because you’ve never fought your own mind,
never tried to build joy
from the rubble of yourself.
how do i explain?
i don’t.

Today I went for a bike ride.
We’re in a heat wave
So I rode under the cover of dusk,
Listening to the sweet melodies of the crickets.
I didn’t think there’d be another heat wave,
We’re on number four already.
But I guess this is how it is now.
It didn’t used to be like this.
The sky is pink and orange,
The July air smells faintly of smoke
And reminds me of summers long ago.
The kind of summer that I long for,
The one I spend my winter days anticipating,
The kind that I haven’t had in a while.
It’s still sweet,
But not sweet enough.
It didn’t used to be like this.
Remember how we used to bike?
Everyday?
And now I only do it
When I can find the time.
No.
Truthfully,
It’s when I can find the motivation to get off the couch,
And search for the feeling that I once had.
Yet I still can’t find the motivation
To answer all my texts.
Sarah, it didn’t used to be like this.
As the sun sets around me,
I think about how we would race the lingering light,
Praying we’d get you home
Before the light died,
And I wonder
Would that still be the rule
If you had stayed here with me?

i wait for my sister’s breath to steady,
for dreams to pull her far from me—
because i can’t let her see this,
can’t let her know
that i am not whole.

i mess everything up
i can’t stop crying
i don’t know how to make things right
i’m not supposed to be a person that hurts others
i only hurt myself
i care

i know now you’re the only one
i know now i’m the lonely one
i reached for you, but you’re out of reach
this lesson life is cruel to teach

i sang your name like a fragile song
believed in us, but i was wrong
you’ve moved ahead, yet i’m standing still
chasing shadows against my will

i know now love is a fleeting thing
a tether snapped, a severed string
i know now that the past is done
you’re not mine, and i’m no one’s one

if you ask me how i am,
i will repeat, reuse, recycle
the same phrase over and over,
slipping from my tongue
like it was the truth.

“i’m good.”
on occasion, “i’m tired.”
sometimes, “i’m happy.”
but never, “i’m sad.”

the lie is engraved, imprinted, etched,
so when someone asks,
“i’m good” comes easy—
because why would i be sad
if my life is perfect,
ideal, flawless?

but then i remember—
when you’re drowning,
it doesn’t matter if it’s ten feet or twenty.
the bottom line is,
you’re still drowning.

so maybe next time,
instead of “i’m good,”
i’ll tell the truth.
because when you’re drowning,
someone might save you.

im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past
im here now
im not in the past

at least sadness feels honest
when you know why it’s there—
a sharp ache, a clear wound,
a reason to repair.

but these indifferent tears,
falling without a name,
are heavier somehow,
and harder to explain.

she saved me once,
when the world was too heavy,
when the summer stretched too long,
and i was ready to end it all.
she pulled me back,
her hand steady, her words soft,
and i clung to her like a lifeline.

but lifelines fray,
and so did she.
with every lie,
every whispered knife in my back,
she unraveled what we had.
i forgave her—again and again—
because i thought love was stronger than pain.

yet now i see,
she has woven herself into my heart,
into the things that make me whole,
and cutting her free
feels like tearing pieces of myself away.

how do you save yourself
from someone who once saved you?
how do you walk away
from the place where love and hurt
are tangled so tightly
you can’t tell them apart?

still, i know:
this isn’t living.
and if i stay,
i may not live at all.

it’s march now,
and i’ve never been so hopeful,
hopeful that what i feel is just temporary.
i’m tired of waiting for the warmth,
tired of feeling like i’m stuck in this cold.
i want to feel something other than numb,
to not feel like i’m just drifting through days.
is it too much to ask for the weight to lift?
to feel alive again,
to stop pretending i’m okay?
maybe the sun will help,
maybe it won’t,
but i’m begging for something to change.

i climb the hill,
one foot in front of the other,
the summit in sight,
but no joy waits for me there.
just the echo of a sigh:
it’s over now.

the cheers sound distant,
like they’re meant for someone else.
i smile on command,
a mask as thin as paper.
inside, i collapse, whispering:
it’s over now.

big or small, the finish line comes,
but never the pride.
i carry the weight of relief,
not triumph.
the quiet mantra follows me:
it’s over now.

when did the journey lose its meaning?
when did the end become the only goal?
the cycle turns, and still,
i can’t stop chasing the next hill,
just to whisper, once again:
it’s over now.

i wish i didn’t make it so hard to be loved,
didn’t push you all away when the sadness comes,
again and again, like a tide i can’t control.
sometimes i wish you could stay forever,
that the world could stop turning,
and nothing would change.

you’d argue, wouldn’t you?
say, “we love you, of course we do.”
but you don’t know me—
not really, not the pieces i keep hidden.
i don’t even know myself.

i wish i could just be.
be happy, be flawed,
be sad without apology,
angry without shame.
but it’s all harder now,
and i’m clinging to hope
as tightly as i can.

january met december in the folds of a fading year,
a moment stolen between frost-kissed whispers,
their breaths clouding in the air like secrets
too fragile to ever be spoken aloud.

“you feel like me,” january murmured,
“cold, distant, yet burning inside.
you know what it’s like to hold endings in your palms
and pretend they’re beginnings.”

“i know,” december sighed,
“and you—
you know how it feels to start over
when you’re not yet ready to let go.”

they danced on the edges of time,
two mirrors reflecting the same aching soul,
their closeness fleeting, their yearning endless,
bound by something stronger than love—
the cruel rhythm of the clock.

“stay,” january begged,
but december was already fading,
dragged backward by the relentless pull of the seasons.
“i would,” december whispered,
“if only time would let me.”

and so they parted,
leaving their longing scattered like snowflakes
on the bridge between years.

i think of him when i see january,
when i feel december slipping away.
we fit so perfectly, like the edges of a broken year,
but the world didn’t allow us to remain.

i miss him in the spaces where time can’t touch,
in the echoes of all the things we almost were.
like january and december,
i loved him in the quiet moments we stole—
and lost him to the hands of a clock
i couldn’t stop.

Today I tried on a bathing suit, just to see what it would look like. I want to cry. I don’t understand why I look like this, and why I can’t be pretty like everyone else. I’m not sure what else I can do, I’m practically starving myself with only one meal a day. I guess I’ve been eating snacks, maybe I should cut them out. I’m working out 30 minutes a day. Maybe I should work out for longer? It’s just, I don’t know if I have the energy to do that. I’m at a loss for what to do. At this point, I feel like the only kind of bathing suit I can wear is a bikini, but I look so **** ugly in it. I’ve never felt uglier than I do right now. I wish I could go to target and pick out a bikini top and just try it on without another thought. I know the way I look is all my fault, but I’ve been actively trying to fix it and it just hasn’t been working. How is any guy supposed to find me attractive? How is he still going to like me after seeing me like this? I really wish I could talk to him about this, but I don’t want to ruin his trip. Or he’d try to convince me that I’m actually beautiful and I don’t have the energy to fight against it. Or he’ll really see how I look and he’ll run away. I wouldn’t blame him.

of all the people i’ve learned to disappoint,
none have been as cruel as me.
a jury of one, gavel in hand,
i recite my faults like scripture.

i live in a house i’ve built of mirrors—
every reflection a version i loathe.
the walls don’t crack,
but i do,
trying to escape the frame.

even my shadow turns its back.

every breath that i struggle to breathe is for you

i told her,
“it’s not an eating disorder,
it’s just how i feel.”

but how do i explain
the emptiness that fills me
when i skip a meal,
or the way my stomach twists
like it knows i haven’t earned the right
to be full?

i told her,
“it’s just how i feel,”
but deep down,
i wonder if feelings
can ruin you too.

i wake up,
and the weight is already waiting,
an invisible ache that sinks
into the spaces where joy once was.

everything feels muted,
like the world has dimmed its lights,
leaving me to stumble
through shadows that never shift.

i carry it all—
the quiet expectations,
the loud regrets,
the fear of not being enough.

and yet, i keep walking,
not because i want to,
but because stopping
feels like giving up on something
i haven’t even found yet.

is this what life is meant to be?
a series of steps through exhaustion,
a battle against the voices
that say, “you’ll never escape”?

i am so tired.
of pretending, of pushing, of hoping.
but still, somewhere in me,
a small voice whispers:
“keep going.”

im sorry that this is killing me
and killing you too.
if i wasnt such a *******,
if i didnt bring this up again,
if i didnt stir up old feelings,
if i didnt ******* end things
in the first place.
you should’ve begged me not to go.
because now im with him,
and he’s safe,
but he’s not you.
sometimes i think about
what it would be like to
to finally just kiss you.
but that’s wrong,
i shouldnt think like that.
im sorry,
im really sorry,
this is killing me,
and killing you too.

how can he say he loves me,
when he doesn’t know the weight i carry,
the reasons i move like a shadow,
folding myself small to fit the shape of his world?

he doesn’t know the lines that spill out of me
when the night turns its back,
the words that stitch my breaking heart
into something passable, something whole.
he hates poetry.
he doesn’t know it’s the only thing keeping me here.

he says i seem happier today,
but that’s only the mask holding steady,
only the cracks i’ve learned to patch
with practiced hands and a trembling smile.
does he notice the moments i falter,
when the mask threatens to slip?
or does love mean looking away?

he doesn’t know me.
he doesn’t understand that every laugh is a compromise,
every kiss, a sacrifice.
he doesn’t see the pieces i’ve buried
so no one else has to look at them.
how can he love what he can’t see?

and yet, he stays.
why does he stay?
does he think i’m a puzzle to solve,
a mystery waiting to unfold?
or is he just as lost as i am,
clinging to something that feels like love,
even when it’s not?

and if i asked him to read me,
to trace the lines i write in the dark,
would he hate me too?
would he still say he loves me
if he finally knew?

i thought i was fine
until i saw you smile at her
it shouldn’t hurt
but it does.
i let go of you
long before you let go of me
and somehow
that makes it worse.

today i realized
how easily i can be manipulated
and still
i let it happen

i could fill a library full of novels about you

the water greets me, a mirror and a veil,
cold and unyielding, yet somehow forgiving.
with every stroke, my body protests,
screaming in soreness, pleading for stillness.

the lane is endless,
marked by the rhythm of my breath,
a metronome of effort and will.
each lap erases the outside world,
until it’s just me and the silence beneath.

this isn’t about speed, or glory,
it’s a battle of mind and muscle,
against the doubt that rises like waves.
in the water, i am both lost and found.