i. I think the gloomy clouds and rain are more beautiful than the shining sun. I think that the sound of the sky’s tears hitting the ground is the most peaceful noise to listen to. A part of my soul feels fresh and complete when I breathe in the autumn air on an October morning. I think that the most beautiful season is the season of death, when the leaves fall down and die, when the world changes colors. Death brings new life, it makes room for more.
ii. One day I was sitting in a coffee shop and on the table was a stained circle from a mug. I stopped and traced the perfect sphere with my finger and for a moment my mind stood still. I was peaceful for a few seconds. The waiter apologized and handed me a coaster and I said it was fine, it was fine. I was fine because I had stopped thinking for a god damn second.
iii. In my grandmother’s garden there are more roses than daisies, I guess people don’t like them very much. Yet I do, because they remind me of innocence. They remind me of being a little girl and picking petals, “he loves me,” “he loves me not.” I’m happy he didn’t love me, because I don’t even love myself.
iv. To me there is something raw about sadness, something that exposes the real us. Only when we cry and scream our emotions are finally being let out of the bottle. I’ve realized that humans are most beautiful when they cry, because it’s when they’re stripped to the core. Sometimes it’s okay to find beauty in a person with a frown, not only when it’s just upside down.
v. When I see someone who wears a sweater even when it’s 90 degrees out I start to feel not so alone. I look for a chance to catch a glimpse at their wrist to see if I find the scars that look like mine. I tend to do this all the time, maybe it’s my way of reassuring myself that I am not the only one going through this, that maybe I will be okay one day. There’s a chance.
vi. I always think that when they look at you for too long, or you catch them staring at you, they’re looking at flaws. When I see him staring at my lips I wonder if there’s something in my teeth so I stop talking so much, and when he grabs my waist I’m afraid the distance between his hands will be too much of a gap for his liking. He told me that there’s beautiful girls all over the world but I’m his favorite, I still watch his eyes when a girl walks by.
vii. My mother has called me crazy too many times to count. I sometimes still sit in my room and wonder if I really am, because most the time I want to jump off a cliff and only “crazy people” do that right? At least that’s what most people say, and I heard that crazy people don’t even consider themselves crazy, so maybe I’m not? Maybe I’m just me, and there’s something wrong… with just being me..