What is so scary about being alone? Weeks had stretched into months and months into years, waiting for the day that I get to say what I had always hoped for my answer to be, loud and clear—nothing. Instead, it was everything. From the uncertainty of taking risks knowing I have nothing to hold on to, to the fear of never having anybody...

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The rain is my pen, The streets, a sheet of paper And as every drop of rain pelts down, My words continuously pour out, Waiting to be heard, Desperately wanting to reach you First, a light drizzle The wind blows against my window It rumbles, and it rumbles, And yet the window resists, Maintaining its resilience Not even budging, barely even moving As...

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I don't know. That seems to be my answer to everything, nowadays. How are you? I don't know. Are you okay? I don't know. I just know that this isn't the type of person I want to be. This isn't the kind of life I want to live. But what am I supposed to do about it? How am I supposed to fix...

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