I have lost.

You're a fucking hypocrite. An asshole, and selfish as fuck. Fuck me and fuck my life. I thought we were perfect. I thought you were perfect. I thought if i shared myself with you you'd love me more.
But every single thought i had about you, everything good, is wrong.
You don't give a shit about me. You don't love me. You're not different.
You're just like everybody else. Out to hurt me, when my intentions have always been good.
Always always always.
I have never purposefully hurt any of you. I've always tried to be good.
But all of you want to show me that I'm nothing.
So congratulations.
I'm nothing.
You win.

Vintage Baseball

Your shirt smells of you and I now. Your musky scent intertwined with my floral-vanilla shades.
I still haven't washed it, even though I probably should. I miss you and I'm never letting you, or this shirt go.
You know all the drama hurts. I don't see how you couldn't, I've spelt it out to you a million and one times. It hurts that you don't care. It hurts so much.
But this is always and forever.
You frustrate me.
I love you.

End

I don't belong anywhere anymore.
And that feels sad.
No one really needs or cares for me.
I know I do. But none of them do.
So that's sad.
So hand me that knife, and let me cut my heart into equal pieces. One for each of you. You can keep my heart, keep feeding of the love. I don't need it anymore.

Hot Chocolate

I glanced at my watch once again. It had been exactly twenty three minutes since his plane had landed. Fuck customs. Like, seriously. Fuck 'em.
'Chill. It can take upto an hour or sometimes more. You know that.'
' I know. I know. '
Impatience gnawed at me like a rabid dog.
He was finally here. I would finally see him, touch him... Run my fingers through his hair, feel his skin on mine... Make him laugh and smile with him- in real life!
The butterflies in my stomach, the very ones who'd been residing there since he'd announced his arrival details were going epileptic on me. I was a bundle of nerves along with being extremely excited.
And then finally, after gazing into the crowd for almost an hour I spotted him.
He walked with an easy, but determined gait, head swivelling in every which way trying to locate the welcoming party. I motioned for Sundas to raise the banner while I walked towards him as if in a dream.
My smile felt as if it would split my face into half, and the butterflies were probably going into cardiac arrest, but all I could see was him.
His eyes finally locking in on me, his expression changing from calm determination to wonder and happiness.
We met each other half way and somehow were holding hands.
' Hi. ' he said, and I blushed furiously, the smile, now grin, refusing to leave.
' Hi. ' I managed, still grinning, and still blushing like a complete idiot, and then-
he pulled me to him and we shared a hug.
That hug.
The hug.
The one long overdue.
The long awaited hug that we'd yearned for since the day we'd realized we were meant to be. The one I craved every night, the one he needed after every victory, after every loss.
This was the hug which had taken on many forms in the past ten months, the hug which had been given and received in a thousand virtual ways.
And today, in that moment I was finally feeling it for the very first time.
He was incredibly warm and solid, his arms around me made me feel a hundred different things.
Safe. I felt safe.
And Loved. And Wanted.
He smelt clean,smelt familiar. Of laundry detergent and soap. There was a hint of cologne too, but only a hint.
His was my favourite scent.
His was my favourite hug.
He was my favourite.
' I missed you. ' I whispered.
' I missed you too. '

You.

He has bushy eyebrows above small eyes, with an asian lilt. A crooked smile, below a straight nose with slightly flared nostrils.
And yet, the imperfections gather to create something completely perfect.
When he smiles, really smiles with no inhibitions- the kind of smile that makes his eyes crinkle up and that dimple appear - I automatically feel my cheeks lifting.
When those eyes fill up, all I want to do is to pull him into my arms and kiss the sorrow away.
He's noble and chivalrous. Stubborn and flawed.
I love him for all that he is and all that he isn't.
For his passion and for his determination. For all that completes him, the light and the dark.
I love him and he's finally mine.
-With a bit of faith, trust and some pixie dust.

Chill the fuck out girl.

The biggest fight I fight is with myself.
What is important to me? What are my priorities? How am I going to make it if I don't even know myself?
I'm so confused and so messed up and everything is still so hard. Nothing is ever easy. Theres just an illusion of easy.

Im getting way too over.
I need to calm the fuck down.
I need to give it time.
I need to chill the fuck out.
Everything I'm thinking is bullshit.
I should do only what I want to, or I will be unhappy.
I should not be afraid of conflict.

The path I choose.

I stared at the reflection in the mirror.
A round face glared back at me, adorned with a prominent chin, tear stained cheeks, large, sunken in eyes and pale skin.
The nose was slightly larger than average, and the eyebrows were arched and unmade.
This was my face. I was looking at myself. My pathetic, sad, sad self.
I glanced at my hands and noticed the chipped off nail polish topping my slim fingers with a slight inner nod. Completely fitting that the polish should be chipped.
My decisions, and non existent options stretched out in front of me, like a dusty old crinkled map.
So many tiny lines going off in so many different directions. Overlapping and crossing and getting jumbled and tangled into one another.
Tracing them, trying to see where it all led to did me no good. I had to pick one, but the most attractive was ironically the most messy. Choosing it would mean uncertainty beyond my wildest imaginations.
I could be on the stairway to heaven, or walking down the highway to hell, I wouldn't know until I was close to the destination.
But boy was it tempting. The roses alongside it grew lush and red, with seemingly no thorns and a heavy overwhelming scent.
Only when you plucked one did it prick your finger, and then the bleeding would start.
And you would find out that the graze was actually a cut.
It was, however, all in your mind.
You could easily ignore the pricked finger, and the tiny scratch would dissappear into nothing, but that would also be the most difficult thing you would do.
You had to choose your own happiness on this path, and make hell your heaven.
But that was the easiest and most difficult thing to do.
And I was not sure I could do it.