His hand holds felt rushed. Like i could reach out anytime and catch the worn out leather of a suitcase leaving me.


Behind the clouds..

Dear reader, if you are reading this..then give yourself a pat in the back. 

Whether your caught in the middle of a love triangle, or currently belong to a shitty family tree, or in the process of watching your dreams crumble into falling debris of wasted efforts, its okay. Youll get through because one thing Ive learned is that when life dumps upon you a massive rainfall of depression, and pain and dullness and more pain and hurt and remorse and more pain and sadness and aloneness and mostly more pain, you need to remember that this isnt the first time life did this to you. 

How old are you? Look back and remember all those traumas, heartbreaks, diseases that said youre gonna die and never succeed in your ambitions… dear reader, if you are reading this, then youve survived all of those stuff. You are invincible, remember that. And dont let life tell you otherwise.

Behind the clouds are beautiful things- airplanes, parachutes, air balloons, helicopters, and most specially sunlight.. but youll never get to the good stuff if you cant get up each morning and take the risk of staring out into the window and greeting the day a good morning. 

Smile, dear reader, because you are awesome.

She was my home.


She died too soon. One day, I heard her voice. I saw her walking on the streets. I followed her. The woman turned. Then I realized, I never met her. I never knew my mother.

One day, I slept in the streets, abandoned and motherless. Alone. The cardboard I slept on smelled like her. And the moon looked like her eyes. But I never even saw her. 

One day, I tried to draw her only to see a picture of myself in crayon and pencil. I believed so much that she exists. But I never met her.

But then again, I was once a part of her. A part that will never fade away. A story that will never fail to remind me that I had a mother who died for me. She was my home. And now I am homeless.