If I could travel back in time, I would think twice before opening up to people. As much as I treasure how we grew up together, I find there is a kind of intimacy in that, one that still haunts me. I don't want it to be the lens through which I see every other bond. Photo by Kiryl on Unsplash

I've just realised that I never wrote about love, my own love. I wrote plenty about you, but never about the manner in which I loved you. I know you know. I've told you that, but let me explain a bit more. Ever since I met you, I've loved teasing you, irritating you, and getting on your nerves. I thought that was the only way I could get to know you better. Every time anyone said the slightest unkind word to you, my heart would twist. I don't mean that metaphorically; it woul

I'll write down another conversation we will never have, except this time I don't wish we could have it. On a random Wednesday morning, I...

I still get sad seeing your pictures online, very sad. I saw both of you today, as in both of your pictures. I was sad all of a sudden,...

(I gather that you think I am somewhat ignorant or naive. You do not trust my judgment, at least not initially. It is impossible to have...

It is inescapable for now. I have nowhere to go, and my panic found a new outlet in shaky vocal cords. Just mention the word, mention...

These last years, I've seen myself turn to bleak isolation. Isolation needn't be bleak, but I know mine was. Eventually, I talked more....

I've seen your friend today. The first encounter was quick, silent, awkward and unpleasant. The second one, however, was better. Seeing...

Why am I waiting? I need to heal. Why am I waiting for others to allow me to do so? Does that even make sense? What are these feelings?...

I did not like the way I was left there, mumbling, while I could've been told the reason for which I had no reply. I did not like how I...

Build me! Build me this time. Work on every broken part inside. Feed me! Nourish me! Take care of my body. Take care of my health. Take...

The companionship of melancholy made me imagine all the potential worst or at least the kind I fear the most. I have unnecessarily lived...

I hope I will not have to wonder why my pen's ink flows only to the past.

I am a stranger to everything with which I was familiar. A stranger to everybody around, to myself, to every notion I believed so true.

At the sight of her triumph, I stared at the screen bluntly. I did not want to speak. Nothing would have been appropriate; no promises...