saint valentine

I am awake now. This is like opening your eyes for the first time in a long time. It's like stepping on glass, you are aware and cautious. Everybody likes to be happy. Except her. Being unhappy works. You stop being fragile because you need to stop being broken. She doesn't want to talk about it. She just wants to keep going.
She doesn't want to make friends, she doesn't want to love or trust. She wants to think and she wants to learn. She wants to destroy herself and build back from scratch. Happiness is fleeting, joy is fickle. Despair is solid.

Don't worry about me, I'll find my way back down.
I don't want to talk about it.



photo credit - viktor vauthier

this is all I have to say, for now.

I want to go back to when we were just pretending. I want to go back to when things weren't complicated. When we held hands under tables and shared stolen moments by the elevator.

Except you were the only one who was pretending.

You said you didn't want to hurt me but it's too late, and there's nothing I can do about it. My entire body aches for you, your voice, your smell, your touch.

It's not your fault, I'm basically unlovable. I don't blame you at all. I'm moody and unpredictable and full of problems. I'm too much work and I don't really matter that much to anybody. I need to be needed and this has always been a problem for me.

I didn't want you to be the boy I left behind. I didn't want this at all. Even though it is clear to me now that you never thought of me in such a way and I hate myself for being stupid and not realising.

So I guess that's it.



photo credit - kelsey

heart of stone

this poison makes my brain buzz
bittersweet and abundant
driving through my veins
tiptoeing through my heart
self destruction, I
am letting go now, I
am running away now, I
am breaking now
piece by piece
and part by part.




photo credit - unkown

uncertainty

Sometimes it isn't very clear whether or not a person actually means it when they say 'I love you'



photo credit - myself

shroud

One notebook is for secrets. One notebook is for stories. One book is for keeping track of myself. One book is for running away.
Two pens, blue and black. My glasses, in the blue case. Red lipstick. A camera.

Time for another cup of coffee.



photo credit - sabino

obsessive compulsive

photo credit - myself

qui sait le pourquoi

If you don't come over and pretend with me I'll pretend on my own.

Today is black coffee and messy hair and ripped black tights and a black lace bra, with a flannel shirt thrown over the top (also known as my pyjamas) and Paris Combo and ciabatta with camembert and pesto and high heels and paintings of Africa and being alone but not lonely.
No, I'm lying. Of course I'm lonely. I'm just starting to not care.

Today is being a Viktor girl in Paris. Today is being pretentious because make-believe makes me feel better. Today is a grey sky and tired eyes.



photo credit - myself