Don’t Catch Me

The sky was muted that day. A gentle breeze rose goosebumps on my naked body, and I simply smiled despite. The sun hid from me, peaking out from behind the clouds, illuminating a small strip of flesh before hiding away. I smiled wider at its childish behaviour.

The smile stayed as I padded across carpeted flooring, not caring that the windows to my balcony were wide open, the flimsy curtains billowing. The breeze felt good against my bare legs as I twirled and danced to the music I was playing in the background. I twirled with abandon, my voice as loud as the breeze was gentle and the coffee practically made itself. There was nobody to care when you were that high up. Living on the nineteenth floor had its perks.

The view was one of them. I leaned against the kitchen counter, naked hip digging into the kitchen counter as I watched the sun play its game. My windows were open, and the curtains billowing and I hadn’t particularly cared. It was a picture-perfect morning.

Too perfect as it turned out, the radio started malfunctioning, leaving the apartment in a deathly silence. It was unnerving. My phone continued to play the music instead.

Even breakfast came out perfectly. Everything cooked to perfection, another cup of coffee beside me. I decided to dine out on the balcony that morning, it was an urge I couldn’t resist. I walked over to my bedroom to pull on a shirt, while I loved being in the nude, exhibitionism wasn’t my cup of tea.

Hair loose, stomach filled, coffee cup warm in my hands I gazed at the view, content.

Just as my eyes were on the slip shut I heard something fall in the kitchen, a loud crash. I sat up startled, anxiety piling up inside me. I look inside and the mystery was solved, a poorly placed frying pan. My eyes still darted to the front door on the way back to my resting spot. All four bolts intact, I was safe.

My anxiety wasn’t quelled. Hadn’t I put away that frying pan? Hadn’t I changed the radio batteries the previous day? Hadn’t I locked my balcony doors the previous night cause it had gotten too cold?

I had taken to sleep to quell any and all doubts. I left the balcony doors open, took off my shirt and slipped under the sheets. The silk sheets felt divine against naked flesh. My eyes started shutting off their own accord. The view from my balcony was divine.

I woke to discomfort. I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I move?
My eyes weren’t opening either.

What was that I could feel on my cheek?

Why was I in pain?

A low groan had left my throat, I couldn’t make any other noise.

“Good morning beautiful,”

My eyes shot open, heart rate rising, breaths becoming shallow.

I registered everything in a moment. My limbs were tied, the rope digging into my wrist. There was a gag in my mouth. There was a creature above and in me.

His face still gives me nightmares. Scars running across his face were deep and ugly. The wide smile on his face deepening the scars even more. What sealed the deal were his eyes, one milky, the other the colour of the sky. The same sky I had been admiring a while ago. Those eyes bore into me, staring straight into my soul, scarring it forever.

The more he thrust, the more unbearable the pain got. I could feel his touch all over me. Nails digging into my hips, another hand leaving bruises on skin everywhere. Tears pricked my eyes, and a low groan left my throat. My eyes would not shut, I did not want to see his face anymore.

“I love the sounds you make, darling,” another thrust. Another shallow breath, “ I’ve been waiting all night to hear them.”

I couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. All night?

“You looked so beautiful bathed in moonlight,” the pain was getting too much to handle.

He groaned low and long in my ear. His teeth sank into my shoulder as his nails sank further into the soft flesh of my hips.

A high pitched squeal was all I could manage.

He laughed lowly, as he looked at me once more. His face was blurred by tears, but I could feel his teeth sink into my lower lip.
I winced as he left me and simply watched as he dressed. I watched with fear coursing through me as he raked his terrifying eyes over my still exposed body. I watched helplessly as he crawled over me once more to whisper in my ear,

“I’ll be back for more, just look out the window.”

He slipped over the edge of my balcony, winking back at me before dipping out of sight.

My brother found me later that day, still gagged and bound. Blood was pooling between my legs and my eyes were wide open. He had held me against him as I tried not to scream in fear.

I scrubbed him from my skin for days after that. I left him in my old home, locking the balcony windows tight before running into my mother’s arms. I healed every wound and covered every scar.

However, I swear I saw him standing on our balcony this evening. My brother had told me I was seeing things as he cleaned the glass from where it had slipped from my hands. My eyes were fixed to the billowing curtains with the faint silhouette. My mother told me I was safe just ten minutes ago as she turned over and fell asleep. I wish she had been right.

I can see him watching me right now, as I write this. He is smiling. I wish he wouldn’t smile like that.

I hope he reads this.

I hope you read this, my nightmare.

I’m getting up, pen still scribbling against the paper. You look confused.

You should be.

You’ll never have me again. You’ve had me all this while, and I’m sick of it.

I hope I can take away everything you have ever wanted from you.

I’m going to start running towards you now,

let’s hope you don’t catch me.


A Confession

“Officer, I need your help.”

“You have it,” he shuffled closer, leaned forward to turn on the recording device before a hand on his stopped him. It was just as quickly removed.

“Before you start the recording, I need you to know something,” she said eyes glassy and hard, “I need you to know that I refuse to repeat myself over again. I will tell you what happened one time, and you can do what you want with that information but I will tell you only once.”

He slowly nodded before reaching over to turn on the device. Nothing stopped him this time.

“So, tell me what happened.”

She took a deep breath before starting.

“He was the person that sold me cigarettes and food. He was the one that gave all of us a taste of home away from home, and we loved him for it. He knew our orders by heart, and he practically knew us too. We’d talk to him, share our alcohol with him, feel safe with him. We were all slightly homesick college students, and he made us feel a little better.” She had her nails digging into her palms. The officer said nothing.

“One particular day he lost it all. Burnt down, the whole establishment. Our second home was gone, but his whole life had just burnt to crisp. We were trying to make it better for him, paying off our debts, talking to him casually, trying to make him laugh. And a couple of days later I get a call from a friend. She’s asking me to come out, they’ve got wine and a few other things and he was there with his car and we were going to drink with him. It was five of us, so it shouldn’t have been a problem at all. Our only issue was how we were going to fit in his car.”

The officer noted her dry laughter. The tears had left black streaks down her face.

“We managed though, sat on each other’s laps, and drove to a nearby clearing and just sat there. We listened to him talk as we smoked and drank. We were all steadily getting drunker and it was quite obvious he was too. We laughed as we watched each other get drunk and I have to say it was on its way to being the best night of my life.

“Nobody could tell what was going to happen next, nobody. It was just me and another friend with him but the end of it. We were still smoking, there was time. I sat down in the passenger’s seat and lay back. He was in the driver’s seat and my friend was at the back. The car was dark and I was at peace. My mind was racing with weird, but welcome, thoughts. It was all fantasies and happy memories until I felt a hand on my thigh. It went away as quickly as it came, I thought I was hallucinating the whole thing. Then I felt it on my stomach. Under my zipped up jacket, and then under my shirt. It rested on bare skin and I tensed. It wasn’t leaving.”

The officer didn’t say a word as he heard her voice rise. She needed to vent, she needed to let it out. He wasn’t going to stop her, not now, not when she was finally getting it all out. He simply pushed a glass of water towards her. She didn’t notice it.

“I tensed up as it climbed up, and I put my hand out to stop it and pull it out of my shirt but one managed to get him to stop. I’ve never felt that weak in my life,” a drop of blood fell to the ground, neither of them noticed it, “and when I finally managed to get my voice out and protest quietly, he asked my friend to get out of the car for a minute. He had to talk to me he said, and she didn’t know any better so she got out. She hadn’t seen where his hands were. She hadn’t heard my silent protest.”

Her eyes were screwed shut now, and her nails digging into the table in front of her instead. The officer still didn’t move. He would wait until she could speak again. They had all the time in the world.

Her mascara ran down her face in bolder black streaks. Hands in her hair and makeup smudged she breathed deeply. She could do this, one last time and she could let it go forever.

“He pounced the minute the door shut. He was touching me everywhere and asking me to kiss him and all I could do was squirm and tense up and mutter weak protests.

“God, I have never felt so pathetic in my entire life. I went through all the usual things that get men to stop. I have a boyfriend, you’re not in your right senses, maybe tomorrow instead?”

The officer’s face didn’t change even though disgust coursed through his system. Since when did no, not suffice?

“He didn’t let up,” she continued, “he lay against me and continued to touch me and I could do nothing but plead and stare at the ceiling. Every move I had learnt, every instinct I possessed completely gone. I was prey, and I was being torn apart.”

Her voice was completely devoid of emotion now. Head still in her hands, she stayed silent for a while.

What was she thinking coming here with such a petty crime? It was probably nothing compared to the actual things these officers see. Murders, rapes, and she was sitting here complaining about some man touching her up? After she had willingly gotten into his car and drank as well?

“I’m even more of an idiot than I thought I originally was,” she laughed as she lifted her head up, “I’m sitting here complaining about such stupid shit while you probably have something much better to do.”

She stood up, dusted herself off and tried to fix herself.

“I’m so sorry officer, for wasting your time on something as petty as this.”

“It’s not petty-“

“Officer, please” she cut him off, “don’t try to convince me that my situation is just as important and traumatising as the woman who got raped or the child who was kidnapped. Thank you for taking the time to listen to me, I will always appreciate it immensely.”

With those final words, she walked out of that room.

What had she been thinking?


I have a fear. I have several fears actually, cockroaches, supernatural happenings, sometimes the dark to name a few. While these are also irrational, I have one more irrational fear. It’s a little more recent, and a little more depressing than the rest. I’m terrified that I will always be alone purely because I cannot bring myself to be truly comfortable around anybody.

Before anybody states that I’m too young to truly know about these things, I’m always hoping I’ll be proved wrong. But it’s a recurring situation, and now it’s placed itself as another major fear on one of the many shelves of irrational fears in my mind. It’s right next to my fear of embarrassment and trust issues.

No matter what I do, at least now, I will never be comfortable around a significant other. This much I know for sure. I’m too worried, paranoid, afraid. What if he leaves? What if he gets tired? What if he’s simply pretending?

My best friend can lay her life down for me and I will probably still worry that what I say to her spirit will make her leave.

My parents have dedicated their lives to me and I simply cannot bring myself to express my discomfort in some situations. I will never tell them that I don’t actually want to come back to them, that I don’t truly feel comfortable in the home they have built for me, that I’m too scared they’ll judge my vocal abilities.

I drown myself in fantasy worlds and perfect romances. I drown myself in the perfect world that Instagram loves showing me. I revel in the perfection of conversations over text because for a while I can pretend like I’m not restraining myself and deleting five responses before sending in my final reply. I lose myself in front of the mirror hoping that maybe I would be comfortable with my own reflection. I sing softly even in an empty house. Dance carefully even when I know nobody is watching.

And maybe one day, I won’t.

Maybe one of these days I’ll be comfortable enough to simply cry when I need to. Maybe I will actually eat something instead of sipping on a drink. Maybe I’ll sing when I’m around my family. Maybe my shoulders will not be tense and I will sleep without worrying about how it looks. Maybe I’ll tell them what I’m really thinking instead of hiding behind pretty metaphors and stories with too much of myself in them.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to throw this irrational fear off of my shelf.


A Minute


My heart drops.

I know what I’m going to wish for and hate myself for it. That whole minute is spent trying to not say his name and failing. Over and over again, it is chanted, almost in reverence. That minute is spent eyes clenched, trying to stop the tears from spilling out, as every moment spent with him flashes through my mind. A kaleidoscope of memories, overwhelming, doubling and tripling everything I see, yet he stays singular.

The smell of blueberry smoke and Gucci perfumes surrounds me once more; I can almost taste the clove cigarettes he smokes. For that entire minute, is name becomes my mantra, my only connection to reality as I vividly feel the breeze against my cheek from the drives we used to take. Tears burn my eyes as I can almost hear his laughter. Memory after memory plays through my mind’s eye in this minute and it’s almost ridiculous how well I can remember the exact shade of honey his eyes were. The hours spent simply talking flit through my mind, soft voices, innocent touches. The night spent simply existing in each others presence, making time stand still if only just for a few minutes. When the moment ends I open my eyes, wipe away the tears and take a deep breath.

It is now,


Dear Best Friend,

Dear Best Friend,

I miss you so much.

I was so excited the day I got that acceptance letter that I called you the minute I got it. That night I cried because I realised that it meant leaving you. You convinced me that what I was doing was in my best interest. You knew why I was moving away. If it weren’t for you I would’ve simply backed out.

In the three days that I’ve been here, I’ve found myself wishing I had.

Everything here reminds me of you. My morning coffee especially. You would’ve loved the campus and probably danced with me in the rain that I detest. The homesickness might have never existed with you here. We could’ve sat by the lake and had you scream at me for not taking good pictures. I could’ve pointed out hot guys to you, or drank coffee in familiar silence. I keep comparing the people I meet to you, and I can see some parts of you in some of them, but they aren’t you. They’ll never be you. How can they match up to you? God, I miss you.

My darling best friend, I cried last night because I realised that regardless of how much we try you’ll never be able to experience college with me. One of the most exciting times in our lives and we’ve been pulled apart yet again.

They say long distance hurts, and I truly agree with them.

I love you so much that it hurts and being away from you hurts even more.

Your best friend

Koi No Yokan

Koi No Yokan (Japanese):  The sudden knowledge upon meeting someone that the two of you are destined to fall in love.

Love at first sight exists.

I refuse to hear otherwise.

It was love at first sight when I saw my dog,

It was love at first sight when I saw those kittens on the road,

It was love at first sight when my mother when she first looked at me,

It was love at first sight when I first saw that dusty old bookstore,

It was love at first sight when my father saw my mother,

It was love at first sight when I first saw you.

Thank you for reminding me that,

Love at first sight exists.


“I’ve always wanted a star,” she says looking up.

The sky is dark blue ink with specks of glitter. She wished she could dip a quill into the sky. If she wrote with the sky, would her words finally be worth something?

“You can actually buy stars you know?” She starts off again, turning to look at him. He’s not looking at her as he brings the cigarette to his lips. She mimics his movements, letting the smoke flow out as she sighs. She should’ve expected this, it was foolish to have hoped for something different. Unfortunately, she was as foolish as thy came. Hope and infatuation were the sole reason she existed some days.

“I was going to buy some, and then I realised I couldn’t,” she continued regardless, turning her attention back to the sky. She raised the cigarette to her lips once more. A deep breath in, the heady rush of tobacco in, a little bit of pain exhaled out. She was baring a little part of her to him, he didn’t seem to notice as he looked out.

“I’ll buy you one,” he says with a calm smile. His body language betraying what he so desperately wanted to hide. He shifts from foot to foot, he fixes his hair distractedly and takes another few drags of the cigarette before crushing it in the tray with a noise of irritation. He wants to leave. The realisation hits her like a tonne of bricks.

“We need some music,” he said pulling out his phone, “ listen closely to this one.”

Her head is still reeling from his previous statement, the alcohol she’s consumed not helping her case either, but she nods nonetheless.

As the song plays she swears that it’s a confession of some sort. There’s no way it can’t be. A gasp leaves her as the chorus plays, her heart skips a beat and tears burn her eyes. She doesn’t dare look at him now.

Pain hits her as the song ends. That’s a love confession of some sort, and nothing could convince her otherwise. She finally looks at him, bitter smile on her face,

“Thank you,” she finally breathes.

Overwhelmed by some sort of emotion, she reaches out and pulls him close. She kisses him, pouring every bit of emotion into that single action. Did he understand it? He pulls away first,

“Don’t worry about it,” he simply picks up another cigarette and lights it up. She can’t look away from his eyes in the glow of the lighter’s flame. Golden brown framed by extensive eyelashes, eyes that might never mirror the intensity of hers. Eyes that aren’t meant to look at her with that intensity.

The song playing in the background fades away as they both put out their cigarettes. He turns to her with a face void of emotion. She’s never been able to tell what he’s thinking. But she knows he’s leaving and she desperately needs him to stay. She needs to make sure that she’s not making up the whole thing in her head. But she knows he can’t stay. Would he have stayed if he could?

Her hand lingers on his arm for a moment longer than it should have, her eyes follow him out. A sob tears itself from her throats when he’s out of sight. The calm that had previously settled around her, shatters like the illusion it is.

Maybe in another life, she could’ve have had him,

Maybe in some paradise, he could’ve held up his promise of giving her the stars.


Forelsket (Norwegian): The indescribable euphoria experienced as one begins to fall in love


I have wanted love all my life.

At the age of five love came in the form of my parents. Love came in the form of my grandmother fussing over my hair. Love was my grandfather slipping me chocolates and coffee when he thought my mother wasn’t looking. Love was pure and innocent.

At the age twelve, love came in the form of dashing princes, valiant heroes who would rescue me from an ivory tower. Love was also the boy who laughed without a care in the world across the classroom. Love was still innocent and pure. Love was still a colourful, shiny feeling that had never hurt me. It was love, how could it?

At the age of fifteen, I had been burnt by love. Love had run away when he realised I loved him. But that hadn’t been love, I had assured myself. Love wasn’t cruel, I told myself at night.

At the age of sixteen, I thought I had found love. Love had come in the form of the boy who kissed me a little awkwardly for the first time. Love had been the way he remembered the little things. Love had been the way simple walks down a quiet road were magical. Love had been the way I could rely on him to stay after a fight. Love had been the way held me. Love was still pure, and innocent. Love was still the prince who had come to save me from the ivory tower, he just looked different.

At the age of seventeen, love left. I cried and screamed, but then I realised it was for the best. I also realised that love hadn’t really left. I realised that love still existed when my best friend hugged me a little tighter. I realised love had stuck around when my friends didn’t give up on me despite all my efforts to distance myself. I realised love had never left when my mother hugged me when she saw my red eyes after a night of crying.

I am still seventeen. Now, I know slightly better than to simply label infatuation as love. Now, I’m slightly hesitant to simply give myself up. But I would for you.


euphoria: a feeling of great happiness that usually lasts for a short time only
Inexplicable happiness is what you feel when your best friend tells you she loves you out of the blue. It’s what you feel when you watch your parents jokingly bicker on the best way to cook an egg. It’s what you feel when you laugh with your best friends around you. It’s the same feeling you get when you watch your puppy bark for the first time or watch your cat chase a light around the house. It’s the feeling you get when you watch your dad struggle not to tear up at seeing your college acceptance letter. It’s starting your day with a mother’s hug. It’s hushed, late night conversations. It’s the feeling you get when you’re in your lover’s arms and they tighten their grip on you. It’s a fast car on a good night. It’s him next to you, with his arm around you, in a fast car on a good night. It’s the nights spent dancing in your room. And it’s the dark silent nights that feel like time has stopped for a bit. It’s watching horror movies with your friends. It’s just being with your cousin. It’s having a nice picture taken of you. It’s taking a nice picture of yourself. It’s cold coffees on hot days and ice creams you shouldn’t be eating on cold nights. It’s in spending an afternoon alone, and nights walking with your favourite person. It’s kissing the stranger with the eyes like yours.
It’s in the little things.


Kilig – Tagalog – The heady-sublime rush you experience right after something good happens, particularly in love/dating. Like running into your crush, kissing someone for the first time, hearing someone you love tell you they love you too for the first time.


“I can make him laugh” the realisation struck me hard.

His laugh was contagious, and for another moment he was breathtaking. I just watched him laugh, I couldn’t have taken my eyes off of him if I had wanted to. When he looked at me after, I knew that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of me either.

I don’t know why this is so important to me. I don’t know why he is so important to me.

He was supposed to be fleeting. He was supposed to be a beautiful moment in a kaleidoscope of beautiful moments. I was supposed to look into the kaleidoscope and not remember the exact shade his eyes were. He wasn’t supposed to burn me with a single touch. I was supposed to forget about the way he kissed me like he needed me to live. I was supposed to forget how soft his hair felt when I ran my hands through it and how hot his skin was under my touch. But I don’t want to forget the way he holds me tight, making sure that I know just how much he needs me close as well.

He was an impulse, who wasn’t meant to be anything more.

But as I kissed him again, no laughter in sight this time, I could tell he had become something more.

So, can somebody tell me when he became something more?