ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ :)

---

The humidity hits my skin, the urge to wear something lighter uncovering emotions I wish I didn't experience.
For a day that was meant to be celebrated with grace, all I have as a memoir is an orchid selected by my sister,
As well as a figurine I have bought myself.

The middle of June brings heatwaves to the off-centre city in England,
Each touch of the warmth making me shiver in disgust; making me want to recoil back into the shell of comfort made from layers of hoodies and long sleeved shirts.

They're mostly gone now.
The marks, I mean.
They look ugly and mocking, but at least they're not alarming or prominent anymore. Instead, they serve as a reminder of my own incompetence to communicate,
Similarly to how, even today, I am unable to find the words to voice my disappointment and gratitude for things.

Though, today has been nothing special.

All that I will remember from it in the future is the heat and my difficulty to breathe and feel comfortable again,
Which is something  that I, five years ago, would've never imagined experiencing.

Contrary to the past's lack of mistakes and an outspoken mind,
I am now jealous of who I used to be.

(I think I'm gonna sit and write to make up for lost time sometime soon.)