Sticky post


I have pictures on my laptop of people I don’t talk to anymore.

Their faces litter photo albums and yearbooks. They sprinkle themselves in the Snapchat memories I don’t look at and the Instagram highlights that I only recently took down. Their names are scrawled all over dedication pages and annotated books, in the envelopes of love letters and birthday cards that I’ve forgotten I saved.
Continue reading captured.

love, and middle school.

I recently realized that I may be truly terrified of the love that I crave the most.

And the realization came after I watched a rom-com with my mom, as most of my love-related realizations do.

At the place where all romantic comedies must make you believe that there is no point of return for our beloved two, the male love interest said something along the lines of, “Even if your dream man came to whisk you away, you would still turn him down, because you’re too afraid to take that risk, and admit that you feel anything real.”

Which was only just unsettling until my mom side-eyed me immediately after his delivery and inevitable march out of the scene. Then it became real, and all of a sudden I needed to use the restroom.
Continue reading love, and middle school.

escaping “art”

In high school, I poured everything I had and hoped for into art.

Every panic attack, every failed class, it was all kept within those precious seconds on stage, in front of the blinding lights of the house seats.

It was the only time I ever felt free. The only time I could be who I truly was, because as far as I could tell, no one else was really watching.

There are many things I miss about those moments.

But there is so much more that I don’t. Continue reading escaping “art”