When I first started writing years ago, I wrote about what it would be like to fall inlove because I knew what it was like to love and then fall and have a broken heart but I didn’t know what in love actually felt like.

Now I write about what it’s like to be so broken and to wish that I didn’t exist and it’s become like second nature to feel like I belong in the darkest of realms and to sit undusted on a shelf with my regrets and self reassurance

I had reality hit me at the age of 3 and my innocence spilled over my head and held above me like it was so wrong to be a child.

As I grew older, I didn’t know I was missing something that couldn’t be found, but I could feel it swarming around me like hummingbirds to a glass window, but I couldn’t escape it.

Instead I ran around like a cat looking for its next prey and once I’d find mine, I’d burrow deep and run again stronger but just as weak underneath

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