Where I write and you read

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There is nothing romantic in waiting for someone who has left you, or in vowing to always be there for them no matter what.

With that, only comes a damaged sense of self-worth – putting someone else as a priority does not mean that your love for that person is all-encompassing. Rather, it means that you haven’t learnt to love yourself enough.

Irony comes, when this is the exact reason why that person will never return. Because they can never receive the love that they want from someone who has yet to show love to himself. And no matter how much love you pour into someone, it will never be enough if his heart is too broken to accept it.


“a heart that’s broke is a heart that’s (been) loved.”

I promise you I will learn from all my mistakes

promised you I’d learn from all my mistakes

Viv, you are human, like anyone else; don’t settle for a placeholder mark on another person’s heart, much less your own.

I have found that loneliness is something inevitable that I yet dare to embrace.


Because as much as hugs bring about laughter and smiles, sometimes they break down your walls and unleash sadness that you tucked away for another day.

I have long mistaken loneliness for a permanent state – feeling alone now does not mean you will forever, and as much of a negative connotation loneliness has, it is sometimes the best thing when thoughts cloud your mind and

your heart races

too fast for you

to breathe.


When your heart is too rational for you to take the plunge, remember that your family is your safety harness. And no matter that your mind worries too much to be still; your family will always be your anchor.

It’s about remembering you were okay before.

“Go to museums. Realise, other things have history too.”

“Write. Use every metaphor in your library until you start using the same one over and over because there is only so many ways you can describe being destroyed.”

Read. Learn about the experiences of others, and take comfort in the fact that maybe, you aren’t the only one hurting.

Listen, to sad songs in languages you can’t understand because above that, pain is a universal language.

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. That way, he will never go hungry, maybe just distant.

Every sad poem has an ending that gives closure, that reassures you that things are okay, or that this too will pass. The post doesn’t, because I think sometimes, heartbreak just lingers, and becomes another part of you.


An outsider’s perspective.

It’s something that never really goes away.

A pain that makes you acutely aware that you are alive, that makes you grateful for the music that blocks your thoughts and pills that lull you into sleep.

It’s a pain that makes you tired and afraid.

A pain that you externalise with a sigh of resignation, that lurks behind the smile in your eyes, and disguises itself as nervousness in your laughter.

Some nights, she curls herself into a ball, hoping to shrink into non-existence. Maybe if she holds herself close enough, she will be all she needs.

Alternate Universe

Sometimes I get hope from the idea that perhaps, we’ll get to live our regrets and unwalked paths in an alternative universe.

Somewhere out there, someone is living our ‘what if’s. Someone is living our ‘should have’s, and someone is living our ‘almost’.

And that’s where the other version of us doesn’t hurt as much.

Pray to God He hears you,

Pray to God he heard you.

I hope you don’t feel pain when you think of me, and you don’t have regrets when you do;

I hope somewhere along in the bitterness and hurt, we find the love in ourselves to mend our broken hearts.

We all search for that perfect love but,

“There is nothing rational about Love.

Love stutters when she gets nervous.

Love trips over her own shoe laces.

Love is clumsy, and my heart refuses to wear a helmet.”

Perhaps then, we were too foolish to think, to think that dopamine was love, that lowered cortisol levels meant we had both let our guards down. Perhaps what we felt was really a rush of oxytocin and vasopressin that transported us into the cosmic union that only the both of us knew, and after the star dust and rainbows faded, we couldn’t deal with the realities of who we actually were.

Do not think for a brief second that this is special.

You were the souvenir shop he stopped by to remind himself of his charm. A convenience stand of physicality and emotions, and he walked on by after admiring his reflection in the mirror.

But you are, so, so much more than target practice for kisses.

Stop, stop searching the crevices of another’s heart to tell yourself otherwise.

“You are what you love, not who loves you”


I wish you told me earlier that something was wrong.

I’m sorry things turned out the way they did.