9. I will never know how streets work; but I will keep busy until the pain stops and I learn to breathe again.

I want to go to a swing party, and I want to touch a cloud. To willingly buy and walk around in shoes too big for me, and see if people notice; to throw water balloons at a friend, to embrace as many forms of sunshine as possible, to go on the scariest rides at theme parks, to befriend someone very young and someone very old, to feel as many heartbeats as possible… the thrill of rushing, of living, of breathing, of fully & wholeheartedly enjoying. Counting steps and blowing candles and holding love in your hand… I, perhaps selfishly, want it all. Every little bit of it. I want to live, and that surely isn’t an odd request. I want to give thoughtful presents to nice people who could never judge you. To smile with the charm of a baby and the wisdom of the elder. To feel red, red everywhere, overwhelming you and completing you. And green, too! Which, in turn, will become blue, then purple, and then out of violet you shall see the opposite: canary. And you will bathe in it until it becomes one with you. Yellow works like glue to willing bodies – Van Gogh used to eat paint because he thought it would make him happy.

Ari wished for me on my birthday last year, to live a life without fear. No matter how bad things get. I want the same! But it’s easier said than done; I’m honest, perhaps too much. That’s why I admit all of this. There is so much of me no one has ever seen, or understood yet, but my incoherent nature is probably best reserved for those who care enough to observe it. Ari said, among other things, that humans are not just “Good” or “Bad” – things aren’t simply black and white. She says that both forces live within us, and what defines us is what side we choose to act on. I hope there will never be a day where I choose anything but Good. Most of my negativity is expressed in my writing; my depressive, frightened thoughts, small hinges of jealousy, hints of self-consciousness… that particular quality no one else seems to possess: that of falling all the time and the inability of rising up until someone pulls me out of it.

My room reeks of Jasmine – a scented candle, a beautiful present from Georgia for my 19th Birthday. 

I am very, very sad – a very melancholic person, and I desperately need the sun in my life. But if you ask me to become your sun, my sunlight will hold you in its arms until you are a beautiful sun, too. If you need the moon, I will philosophize with you on the thorniest nights and we will be blue companions. If you request of me to become your stars? I will shine so brightly that you will never need anything when walking alone. If you love flowers, I will turn into every single one just to make you see yourself as I see you.

I hate being misunderstood and feeling out of place and desolate. I want to be a bit stronger, like you, if you don’t mind. You whisper in my ear, bell-like and thrilling, so when you speak I can’t help but listen. My ears, like my heart and my palms, are always open. I am not a shut door, a glass swan, or an intricate stitching. I whine, but I don’t like wine, I am a piano but I’ve never really been a guitar. A harp, or perhaps a violin. 

They say that there’s a particular order, in which you Get Hurt, and then You Learn and You Don’t Trust Anymore. I’ve been walked over plenty of times – too many for an independent person – but I am still eager and curious and excited and yearning for everything in life. It seems, I couldn’t be stripped of those qualities.

You know, even though I’ve been through some rough situations in my life, I think the same as Anne Frank did: that despite everything, I believe people are truly good at heart.

I will never run out of love.


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