Blind is how I feel. Or do I just feel like I have had enough of seeing? Because everything I see just turns to mush. I just don’t know. I wish I was blind. So that instead of this slow progression into cynicism I can just shut myself off from emotions on some days. Yeah. Blind to emotions – that sounds good. I will move blindly. And talk blindly. And feel blindly. Fumble around in the dark for nothing. Maybe it’s better that way. I don’t know if I’m right or wrong. I know that I’m really really tired. That’s it, tired.

But on some days I do want to feel. And my hope soars and I think to myself: let’s not be blind for today; wouldn’t that be beautiful? You’ve been cynical for too long; covering your senses mercilessly. Burying your head in books so you can escape your reality. Plugging headphones in your ears to drown out the noise. Handling every item you touch with the utmost fragility because you’re scared it will burst in your hands and drip through your fingers and land on you and then, well, then it’s on you. What if you weren’t afraid for one day? What if you let loose your emotions, and love so blindly? And even though you spend the day thinking and breathing and radiating this exhilarating love, you return to your bed at 12:40am. Thinking. Wondering. Crying. For you felt too much all at once and now you’re facing the music and it’s overwhelming.

And the cycle continues. A cycle of feeling too little and feeling a bit more, before resigning to reality. And even though this cycle breaks me, I still want to feel it. I still want to face the pain. For within pain is love, and within love is pain.



Hope used to be a dangerous thing. Perhaps, in some ways, it still is. But what is the use of a life in fear? Why can’t hope be a strength? Why can’t hope be a shining beacon within us without the fear of falling? Without the fear of crashing, hard. Without the fear of spiralling when expectations shatter before our eyes. Hope is the thing that saves us. But have hope for the right reasons. 

That is important

Just sitting here wondering. And for the last few times I have sat and wondered, my mind did not wander into despair. I feel stronger. And more content. And happier. And better. And ready. And full of hope. And I know hope is dangerous. Because hope is expectation. And expectations had a way of crashing down on me. But hope for the sake of hope is different. It is different to hope for the sake of reason. For the sake of logic. For the sake of change. I hope and I do so fearlessly. Because without hope, how can we become better? How can we move onto better things? How can we taste the best things in life? Hope is everything. But it isn’t my everything. And that is important. 


I fuel my own fire, at my own detriment. I cause my own chaos, at my own detriment. I ignite my anger, at my own detriment. Detriment. Destruction is within me. I am the source of everything I despise about myself. In a way it’s nice. Nice that I can’t blame externally anymore. I’ve been robbed of myself. A victim of pillage. But it was needed.  Well and truly I am awake. Awake. And aware. Of all I’ve done. And full of hope. In myself. I am aware of everything and finally I can breathe. So deeply. So slowly. I just wish you could see, inside me. Inside my soul. Just peer in and see for yourself. How much lighter it is. How much better I feel. How much I know. Of myself. And of you.

Yeah I’m talking to you 

I just want you to stop acting childish and visiting me here when you could be talking to me instead. And then I’d wish that when you’re talking to me, you don’t write so formally. I wish you’d express what you truly feel. Just stop. Right now. Stop. And talk to me. And if you don’t want to talk then make your feelings clear. I deserve that much.