When someone you love breaks your heart and attempts to reenter your life years later, you don't throw all the doors of your house wide open. You don't open the windows to let the breeze in. No. You go to bed making sure that they're firmly shut, but come tiptoeing down the stairs surreptitiously unlocking every single one.
The sky was mirroring us that night; but in the place of people there were constellations. We watched the program and pushed away remembrances of the years that passed, as the stars watched us in return. My star was the one closest to his.
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I haven't written properly in what feels like too long. I'm stuck in the same all-too familiar rut where I'm just not happy with anything that I come up with and it doesn't feel great. February smelled sweetly of the promises of new beginnings but March has yet to prove itself and I'm not sure of anything at all. My fingers are crossed.
Seventeen and studying Psychology. I like books, coffee, lyricism, magic hour, (in)signifcant moments, free-verse poetry, mental disorders, female anatomy, pretty smiles, late night conversations, and the time it takes for two people to transcend the boundary between strangers and friends.
I keep sadness at bay by constantly falling in love with the little things in life. My name is Anna and this is where I try to write.
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