by the middle of the week, i am tired of being a person. so on thursday, give me a space to die a little in private… i will retreat into myself, where i have resided obscurely through immeasurable and contrasting lives, all disorganised and stacked on top of each other in the pit of my stomach. sometimes, they spill out of my mouth like sheets of ice and your nagging fingers pulling at my bottom lip, hungry for me to tell you what i think before i know how to say it.
words. hearts. secrets.
maia diaries 