wanting to write but not being able to,

having the want but not the means,

the creativity ceases to flow,

a pen hovering over a blank page,

that I will only stare at for hours more....

it is the end

of a new beginning.

it is the time of day where

people

have their closure.

or they speak with a loved one

in which the sky holds in the form

of painted clouds and wispy trails

or perhaps it is the end of a journey for

themselves

and they seek peace.

sunsets are made

to rekindle....

softness is nostalgia

—and that is, my imaginary nostalgia

someplace I miss yet somewhere I never been

perhaps in a gentle summer from some years of my past or maybe

in another life of mine,

I would be living

by the quiet countryside in a cottage

with open windows to let the breezes in

and clotheslines to hang

the warm linen, bleached by pale sunlight and clouds of billowing dust

from untouched...

i am made entirely of flaws,

stitched together by good intentions,

my mouth can only spit venom

leaving my heart to make interventions

a shield; my eyes appear cold iron

but beneath i have a soul

not many people care because

they only believe

what they’ve been told....

we aren’t friends anymore but it doesn’t mean i don’t

miss

you.

even if you don’t care,

or if you’ve made yourself

forget me—

i don’t think i will ever stop feeling the way i do about you

i love you

i miss your voice

i miss your smile

i miss your laugh

i miss your dogs and your brother

i miss the way you made me feel loved

but that was all back then, not

_no...

they say the eldest daughter always gets her father’s temper

and it’s true. that’s why we can’t get along for shit.

i hate the way you talk,

the way i have your face—

—the fact that we are the

_same_

_ fucking _

_ person._

you hate the way i call you out for being a hypocrite, and you hate it

because you know that i’m

fucking right.

i’m always right when it comes to you.

and i know i may no...

i miss your smile and your laugh and your eyes,

your warm

brown eyes.

i miss your voice.

please, talk to me again even though i know

it won’t ever be the same.

please just acknowledge me, because i can’t do this anymore.

it would heal me if you could just say

_i love you_

__

__

one last time.

even if it’s as a friend.

you don’t have to, though.

{sorry about not writing for a while and putti...

there is a man of medicine

he carries them to all

for the sick with any illness

and for creatures big and small

much he has accomplished

but there is one more thing

he has a last cure to conquer

one that you would never think

he longs for more than anything—

-worth more than any wealth

he wishes for one to ease his mind

the cure for himself...

I was kind

I was patient

I was loving

I was forgiving

I was reslient

I was faithful

I was dedicated

I was empathetic

and I really believed.

and through these series

the months and months

of carrying out, trying out

_new_ theories and hypotheses and formulas--

--was when I learned that sometimes

there really is

nothing you can do....

with nervous heartbeats

jittery as a mouse

I make my way

down the stairs

avoiding eye contact

is the first challenge—

—often ineffective

but I still do it.

my jacket I grab

and my shoes I put on

whilst feeling three pairs of eyes

burning into my back.

_where do you think you’re going, young lady?_

mom crosses her arms

an eyebrow raised

in question.

_to lacey’s house_

I reply coolly

my father...