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Paint it black

I spent a long time contemplating whether I wanted to share the story behind these many fractured words that inspired the tattoo I got at the end of December. Because in short: it is not a pretty story. I got the idea for this tattoo about two years ago, but wanted to wait for the right time to have it painted on my body. I wanted something to look at every day to remind myself how far I’ve come, and how much shit I’ve actually been through. To remind myself that I’m still alive, that I’m still breathing and that...

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Coming home

It’s been too damn long.I was wandering for too damn long.And not in the sense of wandering the world, how much I would like that to be true (hello Sangria, port and Italian wine), but in the sense of wandering aroud in my mind, in circles mostly and getting nowhere fast. I stared blankly at four bedroom walls for much longer than I’d like to admit, I fell down on way more floors than I’d like to admit, I talked myself out of happiness more than I’d like to admit; never once into it. I screamed at my own lungs...

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Sparkle a little brighter

Sometimes silence feels safe. Like a warm blanket and hot tea on a night where you ditched your friends for a lonely house and an even lonelier bed, with a novel wherein the words dance like music and you forget life for a moment as if it were a mere accessory to your brief bliss. Like hiding under the covers from a world that doesn't make sense. Writing this on a night where I ditched my friends for a lonely house and an even lonelier bed doesn't deliver the same feeling though — to me, silence equals nor safety nor happiness....

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