Hours became days and days became weeks and weeks have become months and I’m still stuck in a mindset where you may still come back because accepting that you’re gone means losing a part of myself and I’m not ready for that.
—  E. Grin

I don’t know if people realise how much they mean to someone ,
how much their presence matters ,

how the absence of a star can leave the vast sky a little lonely,
how the absence of the flower which was there yesterday can leave the garden a little less complete

and how without you the world wouldn’t be the same ,
well not for me and I wouldn’t view it the same ever again .

—  the lonely infinity without you / Kriti .G

it’s been a year since i met you.
a whole year.

there are about a million things i thought i would feel today remembering that,
but i didn’t anticipate the heavy ache
that shows no sign of subsiding soon.

i still want to believe you’ll turn around
to me with your eyes gleaming like the heavens
and that smirk that probably set hell ablaze.
you’ll speak my name again.

i tell everyone ridiculous things like,
‘i just feel like there’ll be more to our story,’
even though i know it’s irrational to believe.

i do believe myself when i say that, though.
i’ve never thought soulmates were real,
but if they are,
you’re mine,
and i hope i’m yours.

my love for you is infinite.

—  to infinity & beyond // by april

you can’t help the way bruises fade on your skin
or the shape scars take on your face
you can’t help the color of your eyes
or the way art crushes your lungs when you’re too thin to breathe,
the way rose petals cling to your skin like you grew them yourself
or when your breath hitches at a certain bass line; like you’re always lost in time

or drawn to miracles that exist
because god knows i only see you how I want to

you’re not made of stardust or galaxies and shooting stars
you’re forged and shaped from black holes and asteroid fields and voids in time
a relentless catastrophe, an explosion waiting to blow me to fucking pieces,
because i got too close and didn’t care
you tried to push me away
did every negative and murderous thing in the book
and yet
we continue the pattern
because the universe is cruel and I’m made of bad decisions,
you question me and i question you
and we lay under the stars because your fault

is not pushing me away hard enough.

—  well here we go again
@survivedxby
He missed me and I missed him but no matter how hard we tried, things couldn’t be that simple.
—  Emmerson Grin, excerpt from Poisoned Ink
Please let people be ,
if they aren’t hurting anyone ,
let them do whatever makes them happy , whatever they feel gives meaning to their pain , their happiness , their life .
everyone here has a short time so let them make sense of this life , of this world .
—  Kriti.G

You’re an artist,“ I tell him.

"How so?”

“You paint a smile on every face you come across,” I say, “but there’s always a twist with artists.”

“What’s my twist?”

“You never paint a smile on yourself.

—  E. Grin
But what if I met my soulmate too young? What if he’s the one, but life separates the two of us like it always eventually does?
—  Excerpt of a book I’ll never write #40

You picked her.

The girl with the pink hair
and confident smile,
that made you
run across the room
at the sound of her voice.
The girl sitting on your desk
who insisted
on a scale of 1-10, she was an 11.
The girl that made your hand shake
when you were adding
her number in your phone.
That girl was me.
And you picked her
to be your second choice.

And that made me think to myself:
“Is this what a sapphire feels like
when it’s next to a diamond?
Do rubies and emeralds
leave room for those
perfect little gems?
Do they know the pain
of being passed on
for more beautiful jewels?“

The voice of my mother
washes over me,
reminding me:
Her daughter was to be
a hard woman,
a strong woman,
a woman that can make
a man’s hand shake
just by being in her presence.
She was not to be
a shiny token on his arm.
She was the reason
he bowed at her feet.
She was not a jewel
that can be bought.

Your first choice may be
the stunning diamond
at the center of your home,
but I’m the wrought iron fence
you were too scared to pass through.
She may have
cut, colour and clarity,
but I have
character, charisma, captivation.
She may be the air that you breathe,
But I would have been
the reason you could breathe
after a wave of emotion suffocates you
and you would hate the air
because you’d wish
the water of my love
filled your lungs.

I was not pressed to perfection
I was forged
with hard work and determination
and iron fences were made for intimidation.
But don’t think
the twisted barrier that I am
marks me for damnation,
just because this damn nation
fears to unlock gate latches.

But I don’t want your fear,
or manipulation.
I want you to fall in love with her.
I want you to
run across the room
when you hear her voice.
Your hand to shake
when you hold her close.
Your eyes to shine bright
like the diamond she is.

And I want you to
forget that pink hair
you found on your desk,
forget that I’m an 11,
forget that I’m made of iron,
forget me.

Because one day,
something
will remind you of
that glorious rusted fence
you couldn’t pass through.
And all those memories
will hit you
like a tsunami
and you will think:
“I wish I drowned in her.”

—  I AM IRONWOMAN

You loved him, didn’t you?“ My sister asks, watching me lie on my bed.

“Of course,” I say, “he was my best friend.”

“No,” She sighs, “I mean, you really loved him, didn’t you?”

I bite my bottom lip to keep from letting any tears fall, “Yeah, yeah I did.

—  E. Grin, excerpt from Poisoned Ink
There’s this thing that happens when you begin to get over a person, you start to care less. And it feels like you’re being released from these shackles that have been around your ankles for the longest time. And you don’t check on them everyday like you used to. And when you see them with somebody else, you just hope that they’re happy. And I guess you always love them, but not in the same way. You love them and you want them to be happy, but you don’t want to be the reason for their happiness anymore. And you don’t think about them before bed, or cry about them anymore. And you can still feel them in your heart, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.
—  Moving on