You chase after me as I run towards the light.
You're panting, worrying where my rushing body is headed.
You catch up to me and pause abruptly.
Your jaw drops in awe, gaping at the sight before you.
You see myself, in a white dress, skipping through the field of sunflowers and daisies.
You walk over to me, grasping my hand and smiling at me.
I look at you with a grin and point to a particular daisy on the ground.

"I love that one." I say quietly.

"So pick it up." You respond.

I shake my head quickly.

"Why not?" You ask.

"Because when you love something, let it be. For love is a feeling, not a possession."

"Oh." You reply.

"That's why I've never kissed you. Just because I love you doesn't mean that I need to have you." I shrugged.

Your eyes widen in shock, never having never heard me say those words before.

"But I need to have you," you whisper, gently tilting my head up to reach yours kissing my lips ever so softly and gently.

I can't wait to get the **** out of this place.

i hate boys so much
boys are so dumb


m.g.

i think of you too often. it has become rare to think of something else. i used to think of last summer before i met you. i used to think about long days on beaches i have never heard of before the very day i jumped into waves of sapphire. i used to think about the smell of sun lotion and jasmines and peppermint icecream, which still is my favourite flavour. we bought icecream last summer, mary and i, and dug our naked feet too deep in the melting sand and drank gin straight from the bottle and laughed our hearts out in the embracing summer air. i sighed a hopeful sigh as i let my body kiss the ground and i wished for never-ending summer days with mary at the mooring. we danced around the fire whilst holding each other's hands; we danced and danced and danced until our minds were all sore and then we watched the awaken sea turtles and fell asleep on the dock, hand in hand.

i used to think of mary before i met you, but ever since you bumped into my life, thinking of you has been blocking all other thoughts; thinking of you has been the baddest habit of mine. you did never ever leave.

*(k.w)

people always say how
scars are beautiful
because they show where
you've been
but really
scars aren't pretty
there's nothing pretty about
a gaping wound on your wrist
or torn up skin
and i don't think the people
who say scars are beautiful
really understand what
it means to be
scarred

Sitting in a corner all alone
Refusing to talk and feeling cold to the bone
I have isolated myself from people
To keep safe from all the bad and evil
But this isn't really me

I'm driving all my friends away
And I know they'll stop trying one day
I'm alive but I'm barely breathing
But I know this isn't really me