Simple is nice.

You worry you're too plain for me. Too simple. But, I love your simple. I could be happy just watching you do daily tasks, yawning, trying to search something in the house, drying off yourself from the shower, watch you cook, how much care you put into what goes into the pot. Simple is what I need. 

Please. Simple is happy. Simple is satisfied. Simple is content. Simple is this just feels right. This is the one for me. Simple means that it's natural, requires no effort. 

I do not need to try to love you, I just do.

Letters to God-2

Dear God, 

Make me feel special. I don't feel like I matter. Make me feel special. I want to know how it feels to be special. It's been years. Do something. 

Letters to God-1

Dear God, 

I don't know if you exist, but I was in a need of someone and I thought you could help. I'm losing my mind again and I don't want this to end like it did earlier. I want something to believe in, something that won't let me go bad again, something to make me better again. I don't remember the last time I felt immensely happy. 

Give me something to believe in, God. 

I don't know if you exist. But if you do, please make this go away. 

With love, 

Me.

Things I know and things I hope you know

I know I shake when two hours go by and you don't message me and I feel like I can't breathe when you forget to tell me that you love me. I know that sometimes things I say when I get bad make me sound crazy and hurt you.

I know that I love you a little too much. 
I know that you make me the happiest person on earth.

I hope you know that I will always be there to make sure you don't punch walls whenever you get mad. I hope you know that I will always be there to kiss you good night and smile even if I fall asleep crying afterwards. I hope you know that you are the only reason I'm still writing and eating and sleeping and breathing. I hope you know that you are the only thing that is keeping me from dying. I hope you know that we're fucked up.

I know that sometimes I make you feel like you're choking.
 I hope you know that I'm sorry.

I hope you know that I see you in everything. I hope you know that it's okay to not know what to do with your life. I hope you know that whatever you choose to do with it, I'll be with you. I hope you know that you're all I want. I hope you know that you're wonderful. I hope you know that you're every sunset, every sunrise, every rain, everything in my world.

I hope you know that I love you a little too much.
I hope you know that you make me the happiest person on earth.

Eight months ago.

A few days ago, I listened to the voice mail you left me a day after we broke up.

In it, you asked me to go fuck myself. I still remember that night. I still remember how excited I was about my new mail box service and how you managed to spoil it just like my day. I remember wondering how someone I chose to show all my scars to could be so cruel. 

A month ago, I called you at 6 AM when my mom wasn't home. I expected you to ignore it, but you answered it and I felt my heart fall down to my knees. You probably thought it was because I missed you, but truthfully it was because I had prepared myself to fight back, and instead, I asked you how you were. You said you were fine, I smiled and hung up. That was the last proper conversation we had. 

I made sure to let go of you. 

Fast forward two months, I still wonder how you are. I still wonder if your brother recovered from that accident or if you adopted a new cat. 

If you ever hear me say this, you would probably blush like you used to whenever I said something sweet (which I rarely did. Very very rarely)

You'd probably think I think these things because I loved you and/or I still love you, that I still want you. But that is not the case. 

You see, eight months ago, I would've given anything to make sure you were happy. And now, I remember you as a person I shared myself with. 

But it is not eight months ago.

It is now, and now I don't miss you. 

And maybe things will be better someday. Maybe you will understand that I'm not what you think I am. And maybe, we will start being friends.

But for right now? 

Go fuck yourself. 

Crazy babblings.

Fuck!

I am so mad.

I wish I were a good writer.

I wish I could say things about you, your nose, your smile, your skin. God your skin, your touch.

So that someone, anyone could understand how fucking crazy I am going but all I've got is sometimes I want to reach over and grab your hand, and sometimes it's at 3 A.M in the morning, and sometimes it's in the middle of calculus class.

And my heart is beating fast because I saw your face in a dream

And it's so fucking crazy.

Our first kiss

All I know is you have dead black eyes which light up when you're about to kiss me. You turn your head sideways towards left, and lick your lips. The end of your lips gets curles into a smile. You cup my face in your hands and the room falls down. You move your hands slowly along my arms while you kiss me and god! How lost I was in that kiss. The space between us explodes. My arms were around your neck and your hands couldn't bring me close enough to you. I kissed you and I realized I have been starving. Maybe it lasted a minute or an hour, all I knew was that kiss and how soft and safe his touch felt on my skin. 

And I started missing it as soon as it was over.

Who are you?

Mayday Parade-Miserable at best.