Siyona.S.stay

at the bottom of my bag is a book, 

lying there like a security blanket I'm afraid to touch. 

my seat feels cold as ice as I sit down in the room where not one pen or pencil is seen in sight, 

There is a sort of gentleness; a sort of beauty in the empty bottle of wine sitting on my dresser amongst more innocent things

I am jealous of books,

the stories that have been created from beautiful minds,

but they tear me apart inside.

I'm jealous of every broken character who finds their place,

their person,

their home,

Normal days,

tragic endings,

I was playing games,

you were seeing lights,

I was listening to background noise and music,

you were hearing sirens.

Glass breaking,

life shattering,

Love is a paradoxical thing. 

I want desperately to be loved. 

I want to wake up to a "good morning, my favorite person" text. 

I want the last thing I see at night to be a little red heart emoji.