paris and troyWhen she met him, he had a ring around his finger that he never took off. When she realized it was etched into his skin, ink as permanent as his existence, she asked if he was married. He laughed.More Like This
The ink said "Helen," woven into a ring by his knuckle, and he told that Helen was the love of his life. She wanted to be jealous, she wanted to feel resentful, but he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair while he told her the story of Helen, Queen of Mycenaean Sparta, and a love so fierce that Paris fought a war to keep her.
"So many things in life are mediocre," he told her while her fingers traced the tattoo. "Helen reminds me that love should never be one of them."
She didn't know the exact moment that she fell in love with Jonah, but if there was one, that was it.
When the new boy on her couch asked her about her tattoo, he asked her if she had traveled to Paris or studied abroad in school. Maybe it was the way he had assumed her motivation, maybe it was because the ink was
maybe you never belonged to meI can still feel the weight of your lips on the curve of my collarbone. Sometimes, it feels paralyzing, crushing, absolute. Sometimes, it feels like home. Like everything.More Like This
I once heard that when you can't fall asleep it means you're awake in someone else's dream. I wonder which one of us was dreaming that night, because everything was too quiet, too easy, too perfect. You used to fall asleep next to me, your body curled against mine. It's a warmth that's not easy to forget. A hidden smile tucked into pillows and sheets. It's easy to think these things will last forever when you're tangled up together. For me, the strings of my life will always be tangled up in yours. Forever tied to you. No matter hard they attempt to fray. To fall apart. To sever.
It's snowing for the first time this year. Soft and gentle, glittering in the sunlight, falling in large flakes, easy and quiet – nothing at all like the storm that rages inside of me, turning up the corners of my heart, throwing shrapnel
Pink Highlights and BubblesYou.More Like This
You are that lonely, nerdy girl with no friends who sits in her corner reading a book.
That's when you saw her. You didn't even know her name. She had dark, wavy, shoulder-length hair, streaked with pink highlights: enough to give her an edge, but sparse enough not to emanate that "party-girl" feeling. She didn't look crazy. She wore large glasses, a colourful scarf, a patterned shirt, and a jean vest. Little brown boots. Her laugh came out like bubbles that nobody wanted to pop. You just watched them float away. She was a year older than you, but you don't need to get to know her to decide one thing.
You will become her.
You want to. Your own version of her, anyway. You want to go to slam poetry nights to savour the rhythm and words. You want to stop caring. Not about everything, not about the things that matter. But the things that don't. Things like, what other people think, whether they'll notice you, what to wear to school. I just want to be happy and take
neverlandi'm giving myself ten minutes to grow up,More Like This
and with every minute that passes i am remembering
balloons and party hats and streamers
and the second star to the right,
straight on 'til morning.
every year i write myself a poem for my birthday,
but this year i think i'll write a poem about
peter pan and he'll die in the end and everyone
will be sad. i'll be the saddest though,
because there comes a point in your life
when you realize that you're not peter pan,
or wendy, or even a lost boy.
(how sad, i think, to be lost but not a lost boy.
it doesn't matter though, because neverland isn't
real and now look, i'm another year older, and what
have i even done with my life?)
today i'm twenty-three and peter pan is dead.
my ten minutes have passed and i still haven't
grown up. people around me forget how to talk
to mermaids, and no one claps because no one
believes in fairies, or flying, or themselves.
today every birthday candle looks like a bone
and i still have so many wishes left to make.