From The Dress I Wore At Midnight Leave It All Behind

'cause i got too much life

running through my veins

going to waste

Somewhere, in a dream, I am 15 again. And I am peeling mandarins again in the sun. And I am laughing with my friends in class. And I go on a family trip with my best friend and her family. And we take lots of pictures. And me and my family are laughing together on the driveway at night as it rains. And I taste raspberry jam again for the first time in 10 years. And I try to find constellations in the sky. And in the morning, I have jam and butter sandwiches. And I make fairy bread for my sister. And we chop down the sugarcane from our backyard and chow it down as the juice smears our faces. And we plant roses. And my mum grows a cucumber plant. And the flocks of cockatoos still live near my house. And I take selfies in the sun. And I paint a lot and I write my first piece of poetry and the old suitcases from beneath my bed get moved. And I invite my best friend over and we go by ourselves to the old drain pipe near the stream. And I laugh till my stomach hurts. And I take the newly-washed laundry out into the sun. And suddenly, I am 15 again. And the only thing I want is for life to go on forever.

I run from place to place, wanting to belong, wanting to find a home. When will I learn that my home is within me and it comes with me everywhere I go?

I can’t help but wonder if those possessed in Fear Street were kind of like passengers during their individual sprees. Like they had to watch it all happen and feel everything that was happening to their body but couldn’t actually do anything to stop it. Nobody was strong enough to over come it until Sam briefly managed to near the end of 1666. Like I just keep thinking of Tommy being trapped in his own mind as he massacred his friends and the kids that he was supposed to be looking after.

Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.

life would be so different if i was a bookshop owner in a small village near some forest, who has a secret affair with the local poet

When I was younger, I was in love with the idea of moving out to a lone island and never speaking to anyone again. I wasn’t good at talking, physically, nor did conversations come easy to me, so I kept quiet and I was totally fine with that. But while the people closest to me rolled their eyes at my wishes (again, lone island), nobody told me how talking to people was fun. Nobody told me how nice of a feeling it was to feel a new friendship blossom, to have inside jokes with people, to hand out compliments and get them back, to ask questions to people who are excited about having the answers, to remember something that someone mentioned last time and make them feel heard, to flatter people, to share slightly embarrassing facts and be able to laugh about them, to have people to say hi and bye to. It took me years and years and years to gather the courage to speak, but it was so worth it. It’s so much fun.

i'm so obsessed with the idea of living in a big city where i can choose to be invisible and disappear between the crowds and live for myself and have my favorite little corner in a cafe and go to musea and galleries and appreciate art and architecture for hours uninterrupted and go to all the places where literary figures got inspiration for their poetry and their works and stroll down the streets by myself and look at people who pass by and invent little stories for them in my head and live in a small apartment where i can write by my open window until really late at night and sometimes stop and listen to the bustle of life on the streets below and i can also choose to be part of that bustle myself and part of a circle of artists who share a studio and support each other and go to social gatherings where i meet people who are as passionate about art and poetry as i am and exchange ideas and be inspired and have specific corners and monuments and cafes where we gather, and hold symposia stuffed in someone's tiny apartment and in general live as an active part of the urban creative scene ??? just ,,, living in a city where i get to see the entire assembled past and present existence of humanity ???

i want to be your favourite hoodie. i'll make you feel warm and comfortable, i promise not to scratch your skin or be stained with lies. i want you to wear me all the time, around the house, out to dinner, to the movies or even while you sleep. i want you to wear me in front of your friends and families and in front of strangers, because i am your favorite hoodie and you want everyone to know that.

Do I really need to have a job for a living??? Is it not enough to live for saying hi to the moon, for scheming through libraries for hours just to feel warm, for sighing happily at that first sip of coffee on a misty afternoon, for smiling at every dog you pass by, for looking at the stars and feeling infinite, for peeling oranges for your lover, for walking through strawberry fields before dawn, for watching pride and prejudice for the 150th time and still being amazed, for writing a shitty poetry the first time you fell in love????