chazzlet

I have insecurities. Little things that make me, me; My fingernails of different sizes and shapes, around which the skin I bite and pick until they're raw and I bleed because it reminds me of the warts that used to reside there, until they were frozen off. My fingers, chubby and round and making it hard to find rings that fit. Scars on my knuckles of which I don't know from where they came, and the one on my wrist from a cannula aged 14. I have insecurities. Little things that make me, me; My legs so long that they probably account for half of my height and make buying trousers a nightmare. Starting at the top, my thunder thighs that jiggl

What are you afraid of? Love? No. You can't fear love. You crave it with every bone in your body. You treat people in such a way that they know that you were built upon the feeling. Even when people do you wrong your heart tastes like sour candy, the kind that doesn't stay bitter for long. You're not afraid of your own soul. You're afraid that no one will ever love you back. You're afraid that you won't find the sun to your moon. You're afraid you will love so hard that no one will be able to match your passion. You're willing to risk it all for a friend, but when your heart beats a little too fast, you clam up and run away. You're not afraid

I feel nothing. Nothing is real. I'm here, but I'm not. It's like life is a film, and I'm just a viewer. I just remain in my anxiety-filled bubble waiting to rejoin the world.

there comes a point in time in our lives when we must choose between what we want to be and what everyone else wants us to be. often, the choice is the latter of the two, not because we don't have the courage to be who we want to be, but because we want so much to please the people around us, sometimes too much, to the point that we do not realize their toxicity. and sometimes, their desires for us tend to blend with our own desires. we become what they want us to become, and in turn, we lose our understanding of who we truly are; and that is how we lose ourselves.

someday i will forget all about you. someday i will look back at this, at the heartache, and laugh, because it was just a little crush. it meant nothing. someday i will ask myself how i could be so foolish as to fall for someone like you. someday i will stop pretending it didn't hurt me to see you in his arms. someday i will stop thinking about you, and wishing we had something more. someday i will have fallen for someone else, who loves me back and understands. someday everyone will stop reminding me of you and someday, i will finally begin to live again. someday this pain will stop, but until then, i will continue loving you with everything

for as long as i live, i do believe your name will never slip my mind. even as i grow old and senile, and my memory fades, and my mind fills up with the instances of the past, your name will be in my mind. i will always remember you as the one i loved the most, even as you never loved me back.

your smile does things to me. sometimes, your happiness makes my heart crack in half because i am not the source of that beautiful joy. and sometimes, the sound of your voice can make my lips curl up even when the tears are already falling. and you are so perfectly structured, so extraordinarily beautiful. you are a wonderful person with a heart of gold and i don’t deserve you, i could never deserve you, even if i held the whole of the unknown universe in my outstretched hands, i could not deserve you. i could never deserve you. you deserve so much more, and i wish i was enough. i really do. i wish i was good enough to love you.

everyone wants to fall in love. that's good and all, but sometimes being in love isn't holding their hand and going on fairground rides, laughing at their jokes or kissing them on the cheek. it isn't always mindlessly caressing their skin as you watch a film, snuggled up on a rainy day in bundles of blankets. most of the time, being in love isn't nearly that happy. most of the time, being in love is just watching them. it's watching them doing something they're passionate about, and wishing you could show them how much you loved them. sometimes being in love is seeing them be happy with someone else. sometimes, being in love is just that terr

I'm used to watching people. I don't know why, and maybe I will never figure that out. I'm used to noticing. Not many people do. Not many people see your habits of constantly turning the pen over in your hand or capping and uncapping the marker. How you pull at your necklace when you get nervous or how you tap your foot when you get bored as if to an imaginary beat. And not many people notice the burns on your hands or the cracks on your fingers after an age of kitchen jobs and overtime at work. But I do. I'm used to watching people.

The embers in her fireplace burned shadows into the wall, looming shadows that twisted this way and that. There was a subtle thickness in the air that made it hard to breathe, fabricated by the uneasiness she always felt on this day. She watched the starting fore silently, her chin propped up by the heel of her right hand. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she wouldn't have been able to fall asleep, even if she wanted to try. Her gaze flickered upwards, catching her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace for a split second. Disgust flooded her chest, so swift she barely had time to register it. For half a fleeting moment, the sight of her own