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I have quite a number of younger friends. Friends who are five years younger or more. I love them dearly. They always seem so fresh and unharmed. They’re like my special delicate orchids. No matter how much I would want

I’ve been procrastinating on writing. The idea that I could be over sharing or pouring out parts of me that seem too vulnerable and feel like I’m setting myself up for pain keeps haunting me. I constantly feel the need

I used to want you so bad, now I want so much more than you that I’m not sure I even want you anymore. Even if I did want you, I’m sure I wouldn’t want what you were, not as

(These were taken on my phone at Coffee Casa) This is another one of those. I have been battling with publishing this post. It has been seated as a draft for close to

I wrote this post on the 15th of November 2017. I did not publish it. Publishing it felt like I was admitting to failure and much as I’d like to think I

This feeling makes me feel bold Makes me feel special, like two teaspoons of gold Makes me feel wanted, like a jewel a-hold Makes me feel yearned for, in its slavery I’d gladly be sold This feeling makes me want