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My home reeks of flowers, and not in a good way. There are just too many. Bouquet after bouquet that arrived like clockwork at ten every morning with a new way to say “I love you.” I do love flowers, and I love the diamonds he gives me; I love the trips we take on his private jet to glittering cities like Paris and Tokyo. But the flowers, they’re suffocating...
I wasn’t made for this. For these bars of hours that lock me in from one end of the day to the other. I was made for ink and pages and thousands of quiet hours alone indoors with no one and nothing to bother me. The world does this to us. It puts us in cages that we’re not fit for, it locks up everything we have to give. Nowadays...
It felt like my guts had been turned into churning lava, and I could feel things I knew I wasn’t supposed to be able to feel. So this is what it feels like when the breeze hits your organs. So this is what it feels like when you’re dying. The loud clashes, clangs, shouts, and screams were my world in the darkness, because I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I...
Who do you think you are? I get asked that question all the time, by me, by the other, little me that lives inside my head. She’s the one who’s in control, even though you can’t see her. She’s pulling the strings, and I’m just along for the ride. I wish someday I’ll be able to take myself back, and be myself again, but for now, I’ll let her rule...
