by kam wei

When we broke up,
I didn’t shower for a week.

Your smell still lingered on my skin,
and it was the only thing that was left from you
except an empty pack of cigarettes
and a picture of us two at your cousin’s wedding.

After a week though,
the only thing I smelled like was
blood, sweat, tears and mac n’ cheese.

When I finally took a shower,
it took me 2 hours and a half because
I just sat down in my bath
and cried
and cried
and cried.

Changing the color of the blue shower curtains
my mother gave me when I first moved
to purple.

Because everything felt
so ugly.

Because I loved you blindly
and you couldn’t even see it.

Christ, I don’t even know
why I am even writing about you
right now.

My therapist told me
that there were other things to write about:
beautiful things.

Things that wouldn’t make me feel
like I was missing ribs and my heart
escaped somewhere in the city.

Things that didn’t involve
spending hours in a crappy bar,
drinking Johnny Walker
that will never taste
as bitter as the memory
of you kissing me.

Deep down,
I know my therapist is right;

writing about you
keeps your ghost alive
and I know it more than anybody,

with whom do you think I share my bed every night?

The only problem is that
when I am in the bus
and see a beautiful tree
that inspires me to write,

the only thing that spills out of my pen
is how the tree’s branches
look exactly like the veins on your arm.

The worst is that,
the first few months,
the only thing I could feel
when I was thinking about you
or writing about you,
(which was all the time)
was pain.

Excruciating pain.
Pain you may feel when
all the bones in your body are broken.

Pain you may feel when
you love someone
that you cannot kiss anymore.

Now 11 months have passed
and I am just so goddamn tired.

It’s crazy isn’t it?

How 11 months ago,
I didn’t shower for a week
because I didn’t want your
smell to fade away like you did

and now, I’d drown my own brain
in bleach to forget how I felt
when you kissed my neck
and whispered
” You are mine.”


Mac n’ cheese and purple shower curtains.


(via goldenkintsugi)
"I can’t thank you enough for giving me your heart. And I know its a little messy. But that’s ok. Because I cherish it. I want the happy parts, the loving parts, the amazing part. I want every broken piece, the weak pieces. I want the holes and the scars and the locked up pieces. And I know its fragile, but I’ll take the best care of it. Always."
letters from my best (via katherinehenson)

I know that I’m hard to love. Some days I’m all smiles and affection and then other days there’s nothing I want more than to be quiet and lie in bed.

Sometimes I get angry about stupid things and won’t want to talk to you. Other days I’ll think that you’re the most perfect person in the world.

Please don’t give up on me. I know it’s not easy but I’ll always come back to you.

Letters to the next (I hope you try)

Romanticisation of Mental Illness, Kelsey Weaver

Romanticisation of Mental Illness, Kelsey Weaver

Romanticisation of Mental Illness, Kelsey Weaver

Romanticisation of Mental Illness, Kelsey Weaver

Romanticisation of Mental Illness, Kelsey Weaver

Romanticisation of Mental Illness, Kelsey Weaver


Charging the cat

The eyes are green. It’s charged. Please unplug your cat.