"i write about you, you know. it used to be very frequent in the past, and it's lessened quite considerably now, but i still do. and it's not on purpose, really. i guess, subconsciously, there's a part of me that's still attached to you; a part of me that's unwilling to let you go. there are bits and pieces of you in all my characters, and almost every tragic prose i write is about you. you are scattered across my writing. and maybe that upsets me or maybe i wouldn't have it any other way. all i know is that when the night is young and the pen in my hand is poised above paper, my heart wishes that the words being written by it, be spoken by you."
~ sixteen years old
***
"i wrote about you, you know. when you were the only shining star in my empty universe and i was blind to everything but you. but when you left, my world came crashing down and broke into delicate yet painful shards. now, i don't write about you anymore. i write about me. my heartbreak, my growth, the lessons i've learnt. you are no longer interwoven with my words or laced within my story. you are not important enough to be written about. i write about me now. me."
~ nineteen and a half years old
YOU ARE READING
Broken Teacups
Poeziepoetry and prose from a treacherous soul [highly pretentious in the hopes of being highly aesthetic] [lowercase intended] Cover by @LyssiDee
