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My mum took me to Milan for my 18th: a girls’ trip to the “fashion centre of the world”. At this point I only owned one pair of jeans, a mid-rise straight cut from Uniqlo, and I wore it everywhere. It wasn’t until we darted across the city, jumping from shop to shop, that I grew fond of denim.

Ambition and satisfaction Two sides of the same coin, No? Ambition and satisfaction. They intertwine like yin And yang, killing you slowly But loving you tenderly. There is nothing to life If there isn’t the aching pull of ambition. Thorny vines reaching into your soul Clawing at your heart Slowly – Ever so slowly – While offering you roses And kissing Your bloody hands clean. Ambition throttles you With a necklace of barbed wire. Whispering, achingly, “The sky’s the li

Stillness. I feel still for the first time in years. Not the “stillness” you’re forced to feel In meditation, But a stillness in my soul— A return home, A safety in my own skin. I forgot that this was the point. I let my mind wander in so many directions That I forgot this is it. This stillness is where my heart yearns to be. This is what my soul was craving all along. She was just asking to be seen. And once I finally opened the door to her, She hugged me, Welcomed me— B

I hate missing a feeling. I mistake nostalgia For the pain of missing a person— Not a feeling. I look at someone I used to know And wonder what happened to them? Where is the person I used to know, Used to love? Then i always catch myself, Because it isn’t the person that i’m missing, It’s the feeling. They were always like this— I just didn’t know them enough. The feelings I felt— The happiness, Safety, Trust— I felt was all there. They built it, And convinced me That

I wish I didn’t feel this way. My hands reach out to nothing. My desperate cries hang in the summer heat. I can’t say there’s something Missing from within me. But I’m longing for a home I’ve never been to, Arms I’ve never held, A soul I’ve never touched. And no matter what I do To kill this feeling— No matter how much food I cook, Books I read, Time I spend locked in my room— No one will answer my call Because I’m too afraid To make it in the first place. I wish there was