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and now that you have left, a shrinking hole remained in my heart. how am I supposed to live while constantly fighting the memories of you and knowing it too well that I’ll be left with the memories only for eternity?

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tw// mention of sexual assault

the untidiness of his fractured soul has never bothered me. loving him was like thousands of lightings, striking simultaneously and leaving me paralysed: unable to speak up for myself, incapable to recognise his maliciousness.

i was blindfolded by his love bombing while he was pulling me down in bottomless pit, where my screams for help would just echo aimlessly and pointlessly and could not reach anyone.

with a vile smile and strengthened force of his dirty hand, he left fingerprints in the deepest chambers of my heart, ripping my innocence away with unrelenting grip.

my eyes flooded in tears, my legs and arms surrendered , frightened under his brutal force, my mouth left out a cheerful veneer, cloaking our filthy secret with automatic obedience.

the sin i now carry it was not mine to be burdened with, but the fright lingers every waking moment. i am a silent survivor, cradling the hope of a lifeline in the tempest of an “i believe you”.

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— Nikita Gill

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how beautifully poetic would be to experience innocence one more time. to breath it again before the darkness stormed it, crushing you down and absorbing you as a impotent, helpless soul trapped in a rusty sternum.

mean voices reign over your mind, invisible strings pulling you closer into nothingness, a void where the purity of souls decay into foamy malice.

you metamorphosed into a wingless bird, caged into the cruelty of a brutal destiny. the stars on the sky, that you used to put a wish on, dissolved into heavy grains, stinging you.

an omnipotent force is shadowing you, recalling you to pronounce a sentence that can be not undone. a sentence that chained you to your mistakes. your regrets are flooding in, aimlessly and desperately trying to touch the spark of lost innocence. but it is all lost, your trials and errors are whispered into the void. the echoes return your prayers, softly. they whispered back to you and announced: you are bound to a lifetime of tarnished grace, where innocence is but a ghost of what once was.

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Dear Past,

Once upon a time, i scribbled in soil and put an oath that i would hold your hand and would not let go. Now that I grew older, I am pressured to let go, wipe you from my memory and smile politely to Present. My intentions grew roots in that soil and the roots solidified in stone.

I look over my shoulder, the Present housed me, fed me and lifted me and yet here I am, the adulter. I look over my shoulder, and through the lens of Time, I stare at Past me. She is alone, afraid and I am now resentful, I do a sketch, a portrait on a metal piece of brain of that little girl.

And I am back and I look the Present from above downward and cannot hide my grimace: you want me to achieve some form of serenity with you but how could you be so utterly selfish? Ask me to betray someone else for us? I am resentful. I am resentful and I cannot let you know why, and it will die with me and you won't bother to ask me once: " but why?"

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People aren't homes, they never will be. People are rivers, always changing, forever flowing. They will disappear with everything you put inside them.

~ Nikita Gill

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I wear love on me like a lined garment, with ill-fitting seams, its tightness squeezing my chest. The mere thought of reciprocating love ties a ticklish knot in my throat. Bitter affections of worthlessness populate my emotionally repressed habitats. They re bunching up in my throat, tightening stubborn knots and burning my insides like poisonous liquor. Loving is poison and I am a shattered glass, licking half of it out and absorbing the rest only to neutralize it with my doubts.

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the overwhelming feeling of sadness sometimes when someone treats me with kindness

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it s perfectly convenient to recede yourself in your cocoon of safety and block out the outside world entirely. the healed scars turn into security alarms, but their engine power is too heightened and nothing will ever be approachable again. because the world does indeed muffle into one enormous pile of danger when you have leaking wounds and the world is too busy to even look at them.

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Once we start loving ourselves, people no longer seem good to us unless they are actually good for us.

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I am good. I am loved.

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there is an absolute disillusionment in how unforgettable regrets mold us into forsaken sculptures, defenseless against the unforgiving time.

unspoken choices, missed chances and hidden emotions simmer underneath the weight of the swarthy present. they want to be liberated, yet the space for them has been swallowed into a hollow vortex, untouchable for the fragile human existence.

as tides have been turning, you re gulping your regrets, the taste of infinite salty waters tormenting you. you re weighting on a slippery rope between moving forward and the harsh, almost imperceptible pull of the past. the wind guides your directions and you re dragged forcefully where you are right now.

you remain there, supposed to move forward but the thoughts chained to your regretful past won't allow any tangible twist.

you feel the cruelty of life as a thousands grains of salt smashed rightfully into your chest. you re an echo amongst the livings. you re shrinking and shrinking yourself but there s no close escape.

there s a sense of haunting melancholy, hanging in the air, as the past refuses to let go of you, and you plead to re shape it.

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— Silas Melvin

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Imam Al-Ghazali // Tennessee Williams

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i have a longing that's killing me.

mahmoud darwish, memory for forgetfulness

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Maggie Stiefvater, Shiver