"24 years old girl raped by a security guard."
Now I know that life is a balloon filled with ironies.

"Blue ticks do make life easy", you said when I didn't reply for hours to your texts. Maybe, they do. You're just interested in knowing your worth. Whether you're important enough to receive a reply in a few seconds or not. You used to be, notice the tense, if you may. But little do you know about my privacy. I like it that way, and would love to keep it to myself, especially when I know that there was no privacy about you and me, as you opened your mouth in from of everyone about the way I cried when you first left, when I first kissed you when in reality, it was you who forced it on me. So, I have always been a private girl with boundaries, and you've always liked hitting sixes. And yes, blue ticks do make life easy, but why should I make it easy for a player who made it so hard for me to complete my target?

Taxi cabs, bright city lights, busy streets, moving people. In a city full of houses, she finally found a home.
                                                          #shefoundherself

In my dream of yours, I was the one who left you, and started a refreshing life with somebody new.
                                       


                                                 #butitwasjustadream

"I LOVE YOU"

My head was resting on your right shoulder and you were playing with my hair, as we watched a movie together on a snowy day. I could smell your cologne on me already. I still can. We were so busy talking and making fun of each other, that the movie was just a disturbance to fill the void. All I knew was It was a romantic movie with a lot of kissing scenes. In the middle of th conversation I paused, and said,"You know, I have never been kissed. Have you ever kissed? Kissed someone you loved?" "I have kissed, but not the girl I loved", you said. It was quite disappointing. "Never kiss me if you don't love me, please", I said just to break the silence. I swear, I felt like a girl with really old school thoughts even though I meant every word I had said. But it was an awkward moment for me with my thoughts running a million miles per hour. But You made me turn to your side, looked me in the eyes, touched my hair, and kissed me as passionately as ever and whispered, "I will never".

                                          EMPTY

Had to sweep glitter away from my room today. Felt clean. 

Loving you and leaving you was no love gain or no love loss, because it wasn't love at all.

 Oh lord, took his life, just like the pace at which the clouds above us move.
His words, a halo, which embraces my heart and soul.
His thoughts, as smooth as a mothers touch.
Oh, I wish he was alive.
To see the beauty which has turned upside down. To see the humanity which itself is seeking for humanity.
To see beauty finding itself in surgical procedures.
Oh, I wish he was here to describe all the little things that are going unnoticed.
To see, how a child leaves nothing but a bad impression.
To see, the painters which are painting this word black.
And how his words are being copied and taken credit for by people who want to outshine.
Now, I just wonder what he would've done  if he was alive.

"Shouldn't you be like the sun?", he asked her whilst looking at the night sky.
"Why? As in?", she replied.
"You're like the moon. You keep changing over time, and the worst part is, your light depends on the sun", he said even when he knew who "sun" was.

Dear friend, my other friends think that I have finally, and thankfully fallen for somebody else. That somebody being you. They can "sense" love. I cannot, can you? Sure, we exchange those three words quite often and we mean it everytime, but there are different types of love, no? But, my friend, I'm scared because my past left me with an allergy to love. You're an amazing human being, and I do not want things to not to work out. But my stupid, crazy friends think the otherwise, and are quoting stuff like, "Rainbows after a rainy day", "Things happen for a reason". Maybe, maybe not. What's even scarier is that, I haven't written angry poems about my ex lover in a week, because I don't get that angry feeling anymore. Is it good? Or is it a signal or something? I hope my friends are wrong. And maybe, the day I'll start writing about you, will be the day I'll know that I'm in love.

You tell me you only want to be friends with benefits and nothing else. I tell you I'm fine with it, because, well, you're all I want. But in the back of my mind, I'm  cursing myself for doing such a sluttish thing. You tell me you don't want any strings attached, and I want the otherwise. For you, love is like a bookmark feeling. For me, it's like diamond. You are a traveller, and I am a stayer. And for the first time, I'm letting someone go, because you have you plane to catch and I have a home to reach.