You can sometimes ask all the right questions and still be completely clueless. Other times, you can explain yourself verily and still be heavily misunderstood, because they just don’t care enough.

They can do their bare minimum to string you along and if it is someone you like you’ll be completely oblivious to their halfhearted efforts until they completely crush you.

Look out for yourself, because they never seem to have your best interest at heart.

When people emphasize “I don’t care about your past”, it delinquently sheds light on the fact that there indeed exists a “past” that’s not okay. So stop saying shit like your past doesn’t matter, or I accept your past.

Stop invalidating people’s experiences because they weren’t favorable to community standards. Stop making people feel like shit over fates they had no control over. Be more considerate with your words. You don’t know the things a person has had to go through to get to where they are.

It’s the little things that mean the most in the end. Even when you tiptoe to never take something so incredible for granted, it eventually slips away.

I miss you.

As much as you’d wish that men would come into your life with little previews or trailers, they don’t. It’s always a chance you have to take. It could be the beginning of something wonderful or it could turn out to be nothing at all. And the other times it ends up becoming your downfall. We have no reason to trust people and yet we do, despite the obvious setbacks somewhere down we are so hopeful that it hurts. Men come looking like life rafts and you can’t help but get on them when you have nothing else to hold onto. And you wonder why has this person taken you on. Maybe it’s a good deed, the humane thing to do. Maybe that is all. There are no deeper feelings, nothing that could turn into a wonderful book. Just a subtle heroic act keeping you afloat. Don’t fall for your rescuer. Sometimes it’s their job or they are being extremely nice. Nothing more, nothing less.

They say you make them happy, they say this feeling is out of this world.

You agree.

And yet, they can’t choose you. They don’t have what it takes to choose you and this does not have anything to do with you but with them, and somehow you’re tangled in this equation wondering things you shouldn’t.

It started dreamy as ever, and I’m not kidding when I say it was everything I’d ever wanted – apart from the fact I was getting too comfortable in someone else’s life without an invitation.

Maybe it was the fact that it was so wrong that it kept us going so strong. Or maybe it was all real. I don’t even know anymore. But I think I’ve lived in the world long enough to know – it’s not every day you come across a person who knows the way around your mind, heart, and soul.

What did he see in me though? What could he possibly see in me for him to look as if there were galaxies in my eyes? This man was my core shaker. But this man wasn’t mine.

But why was it so perfect apart from the fact it was so wrong?

Was it easier to alter your reality in one without strings? Like you could be anyone you wanted to be because it is a new book, a new story, a new affair?

The ones who got to hold us ended up leaving us and yet they ask us why wont we let them hold us again. And I’m tired of explaining that I’ve had enough, that I’m done. Please go away.

As my mother and I sit, end to end as far away as possible from each other, without even a word, I wondered how we got here. Every patient surrounded by their families, all engaging in conversation, everyone so normal. Yet here we both are. Comfortable in dead silence. We are not angry at each other, we just don’t have much to say. It is sad. But you shape your children, and this is how my mother shaped me. Months of prolonged silent treatment that lead to anxiety and insecurity from as young as I can remember – had ruined our relationship beyond repair. I’m certain she has no clue this is the elephant in the room, or if she even wonders, or realizes that we are the least functional in this room. Or maybe it’s only me, again with my overthinking, sparing too much on a thought I could just let be and ignore.

Parents are funny, they put themselves on their high pedestals vowing they can never do wrong. They come from a place of such privilege, for bringing life into this world. We owe them our life for doing the bare minimum. But then I also understand the cycle of violence. It wasn’t her fault, but it wasn’t mine either. Yet I desperately need to project my anger somewhere. I don’t know how I can forgive, or even forget, or ever be okay with the life I was presented. I’ll always be angry. Because as a young child I don’t think I deserved any of it, and as a problematic adult I’ve finally begun to understand the root causes of all my problems. And I just don’t know how else to be.

Even the great ones break your heart sometimes. And they never realize just how. But you feel it and you wish you’d never met them because yes, it stings.

It’s funny that I’ve never felt good enough for anyone and absolutely hilarious that I never will.