reality check

I’m tired of writing about words and love

both are so elusive,

like dreams you dreamt

just to forget.

and yet.

If I’m here, then

you must be there

hoping that somewhere

my heart beats

for the same things as yours

but is that enough?

life isn’t built on wishes

and neither is



Moving Out

Two tears to each box

at least

I motivate myself to pack these past 2.5 years away

By pretending I can shove all my sorrows in these suitcases,

right next to my summer clothes and photographs of better days-

things I know I won’t be revisiting for a while


My body

Burning hot

won’t even let me pretend anymore

And reality?

Well, she’s such a cold hard bitch.