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.

best thing to do? forget about me

when i was little, my dad told me
“fortune favors the bold,”
but i thought, for the longest time,
he was saying
“fortune favors the bowl,”
and honestly?
that made more sense to me.
because i’ve never been bold,
but i’ve always been empty.

i learned the right phrase eventually,
but i didn’t do anything with it.
it sat there,
just another thing i wasn’t brave enough to believe in.

i let things happen.
i kept quiet when i should’ve screamed.
i stayed when i should’ve left.
i left when i should’ve stayed.
i waited for signs that never came.

now i hear that phrase and it feels like a joke,
like a door that only opens for people who push it hard enough.
and maybe i could’ve been one of them,
if i wasn’t so scared of being too much,
or not enough.

fortune favors the bold.
and i’ve never been bold.

it’s weird.
it feels like everything i do
is for you to notice.

but somehow,
you notice things
no one else ever has.
things even i
never knew were there.

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.

you were never poison,
but you were the first sip.
the first ache in my chest
i couldn’t name
until it spilled over.

i loved you like a secret,
buried under skin and
shoved between apologies,
but still, you found your way out.
every time.

and now,
every spiral starts with your name.
every hollow night
traces back to
your golden eyes
and the way i used to be
before i ever met them.

you were the gateway drug.
not the overdose,
not the blade,
not the shaking hands or the
bottle of pills i keep by my bed.
but you.
you were the first high,
the first crash,
the first reason i stopped
trusting the calm.

and it freaks me out.
because i’m old enough now
to know what love isn’t.
to know that you opened a door
i still can’t close.
and you walked through it
like it didn’t even lock behind you.

i think i hate you for it.
but mostly,
i miss before.
before you.
before i knew what this meant.

did you know your eyes are golden, not brown…?
did you know that i loved you this time last year…?
did you know that i still do…?

i always wondered
why he never wears sunglasses.
it’s like he’d rather stare into the sun
than hide his golden eyes.

he’s a quiet boy,
but he wants to be heard,
even when it’s scary.
even when they don’t understand.

he tries, sometimes,
to reach old friends
who can’t see him.
why does he do that?

he drinks those energy drinks again,
i know he shouldn’t.
i’m not there to stop him,
he can do whatever he wants.

his laugh still makes me
smile for a second,
until i remember
he’s not laughing for me.

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

i make it hard to love me.
i pull away when i need someone most.
i act like i’m fine
so no one will see how badly i’m not.
i say sorry
for things that aren’t wrong,
just so no one leaves.

i want love
but i don’t know how to hold it.
i’m scared of being too much
and not enough
at the same time.

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

his thoughts twist like rivers,
carving paths no one else would walk.
at first, i only followed out of wonder,
curious how someone could think in stars
instead of steps.

now, i read him like a second language.
not native, but fluent.
and every word still catches the light,
like something holy.

he tells me he doesn’t belong,
but maybe he was never meant
to fit the world.
maybe he was built
to fit me.

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.

there is a hole in my heart
and it’s shaped like you

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 say i’m sorry
so you know i care.
because silence feels like giving up,
and i’d rather bruise myself with guilt
than make you wonder if i feel anything at all.

i say it
because i don’t know what else to say.
because love doesn’t always come out soft
when it lives in a body like mine.
a body that flinches from closeness,
but aches for it all the same.

i say it
because i break things.
people.
promises.
quiet moments that deserved to stay whole.
and i want you to know
that i see the damage,
that i’m not blind to what i cause.

how long can i be sorry
before i break?

before the guilt becomes a fault line,
and all my trying
just splits me in two?
before the apology
is the only thing left of me?

i say i’m sorry
because i still believe in glue,
in hands that hold,
in second chances.
but i don’t know
how many more times
i can be the one who breaks things
and still expect
to be held.

i say i’m sorry
because i love you.
and i’m terrified
that won’t be enough.

1.  wake up. wish you hadn’t.

2. drink some water. not because you care, but because it’s easier than saying you didn’t.

3. check your phone. nothing urgent. no one noticed.

4. get dressed in whatever hides you best.

5. skip breakfast. you weren’t hungry.

6. think of him. not like a cure, just like a reason.

7. reread old messages. pretend they were written today.

8. send him a heart. mean it. just don’t say the rest.

9. stay busy. fold the laundry. clean the bathroom. go through the motions.

10. cry quietly. turn the music up just a little louder.

11. wish someone would ask the right question.

12. stay alive. because he still wants you to.

no no,
you misunderstand.
i don’t mean to hurt anyone.
i only want to hurt myself.

but that’s exactly my problem,
isn’t it?
i try to help everyone,
but they all end up hurt even more.

remember—
i still love you,
even though i act like i don’t.
don’t forget that
when i delete you from my life,
when i choke on silence,
when i tear myself away
like skin from bone.

i loved you,
and it gutted me.
i couldn’t hold it
without bleeding,
couldn’t stay
without breaking.

so i left.
so i’ll look like i don’t care,
like you never mattered,
like the fire burned out.

but it didn’t.
it’s still clawing at my ribs,
still screaming under my skin.
and if i ever seem cold,
it’s only because
the heat of you
was killing 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 told you i’d let you in,
but i didn’t.
just smiled through the ache
and made you believe
i was okay.

i said i wouldn’t do it again,
but i did.
soft and slow,
like a secret
i already knew how to keep.

i told myself i’d stop,
but i haven’t.
not really.
not even close.

i break promises.
not out of spite,
just out of habit,
or maybe survival.

you say you love me anyway.
but god,
how long can that last?

i can feel the pain in my chest.
it’s sitting heavy on my lungs.
it hurts to breathe.

i can feel the pain in my head.
i think it’s that pounding i feel,
the unrelenting pressure.

i can feel the pain in my heart.
it’s splitting into pieces.
not enough glue to put it back together.