Chocolate, bread, ginger tea

He started getting violent after that one trip to Iceland. Violent in the sense of punching walls and not people. I burnt a hole in my finger because I wanted to see through me.

The extension cord fell on my head.

He’ll walk in
And we’ll be laughing at him
But he’s just a man
We don’t realize that he’s just a man

Prom consisted of me spouting a bunch of crap to Max and Clara but I realize it was about myself. Thus the entirety of the trip consisted of me thinking I was dissecting Max’s character when I was dissecting myself maybe

Breathed in your hair

Folding

Why is she so unfortunate

Field of swans
Doesn’t even beat what you said

Stale bread
Plastered on the beach and cliffs

I fell asleep and when I woke up you were more asleep than me

A mother is just supposed to sit beside you on a plane and show you sometimes if there is something interesting outside

How can the way a piece of paper is folded reminds me of a person

A piece of paper was folded like a person, Max. I can’t explain it to you because I can’t explain them.

Through the entirety of preplanned, but in my opinion arbitrary abrupt trip to Iceland, me and my friend dissected a break up she had went through. An artist she was, but Max was also an artist. We considered him to be considerably talented; more than any of us could imagine to exist. Through the entirety of the trip we dissected his character. But soon came to the realization that the character “Max” was entirely composed of us. We felt like we were high. Stuck in a space with Max.

Who is Mom?

Mom is that feeling on the beach. A beach of shells. Broken shells. Shells are homes. And your feet are already crushing the already crushed homes before you have a chance to see what your stepping on. But you do it anyway. Mom is that.

Mom said no

Why is it that when you remember someone beautiful you think of the beach.
The beach
The beach

Barren land

She fell asleep when I was talking about mothers. She didn’t have a mother

The puddle wasn’t a puddle but a deep ridge

Clara Lote
How did she learn
How to console
After she went
Through that
“Arnold” is her excuse
Excuse to touch my shoulder

His head was falling
So was mine
Mine fell first
His head collided with mine
My head propped his head up
My head fell further
My neck doesn’t stretch that far
But our heads are touching
My neck is burning
But the feeling of the absence of touch is far more painful
My head is on his shoulder and his neck is on top.
I see his fingers move.
We don’t move
Then the bus stops.

Are you going to get him back home?

I put one boot in the lake
And my boot soaked like my brain

The beach I went to was black covered in white waves

My left ear is gone
I lost it in the beach
The beach you happened to be walking on. Through the middle
I lost you to that
I lost you to you

She belongs on that beach
On that beach between the water and the sand. Black sand and White water.

Her arms were the lighthouse
Searching

You know when you loose your home everywhere feels like home

I bought 2 books in 2 different languages and I couldn’t read both

Amidst chaos your used to it
She showed her chaos and her numbness

We went far together but he didn’t go back

Danger open water. That was what the sign said. But it should be: danger open space. But it wasn’t even the open space. It was loneliness. It hurts fucking a lot. 9 Days with one person 1 day by yourself. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt like this. Ever since I was a kid this is what I have fought to get rid of this feeling. The universe I made in Iceland is gone

I don’t think any type of drug will get rid of this feeling
No amount of punching walls will help

Tomorrow already started today

It hurt a lot

This is the simplest feeling of loneliness I have ever felt. But it’s a product of all the big things that makes it so simple. It’s the type of feeling that keeps your eyes swollen for long periods of time without any reason. You haven’t even cried so why.

I found a book I gave to someone a long time ago.
I went to their house but nobody was home and the door was propped open.
Inside was the book along with their unattended dog
Inside the book it said

This is not manageable.

No amount of listening to loud rap music
Or covering my ears
Or reading
Or writing
Helped
In fact it might of made it worse
But I don’t know how you could get worse from this.

Should I bother her more?
But she has been bothered her entire life

Pain

I cried to a mother that wasn’t mine
Mine told me to fix my hair
The other told it’s going to be ok

Then I cried about a girl who was motherless

Was I worth more than the trip or less? Probably less. I shouldn’t have gone on this trip. Waste

My eyes swelled from the slumberless slumber

I decided it was over once I finished the book and finished the trip.
I decided to eat a chunk of myself and I did
I bit it off


preethi is studying random things at the university of toronto, contemplating everything at all times.