Writing

I walk through empty streets that I don’t go through anymore.

The thought of you just caves in, Even though we haven’t met. My heart is full of your name even though I don’t know it.

I was once told “There’s no use in helping someone whose problems are on the rim of the cup” I never understood that saying, but I knew that my own vase was overflowing.

crying over a simple email 

the lasts build a lump in my throat 

last time beaming onstage 

signing yearbooks 

wearing a stiff blue skirt 

Rain.

Laughter.

Smiles.

Swimsuits and twister.

Getting soaked just for fun.

This is girlhood.

This is happiness.

This is freedom.

What is "Normal"?

We have all asked ourselves this question before, but have we ever had a clear answer?

"Normal" isn't real but is also everything around us...

"Normal" is different for everyone.