After a few spliffs, shots of hard liquor, several painfully loud tracks and harbored indescribable emotions, it results in awkward, unintelligible excerpts by a twenty-something year-old girl that constantly thinks about food, sex, art, music and more food. Oh, and (occasionally) you.

s o u l


There are people out there that have pieces of your soul. Maybe your most delicate pieces too; pieces you can no longer take back. Whether taken by force or given, that part of your soul is no longer yours. You lose a part of your soul to someone in the past, hopefully to be healed and replaced with a new part of your soul. But what if that doesn’t happen? Do we live with that empty void in our chest? In our souls?


My soul is scattered amongst so many people. But it isn’t only scattered amongst past relationships. This is so much more than that.

I still have a part of my soul with me, my most delicate part of my soul, and no one has ever been close enough to see it, let alone touch it or have a grasp of it.


I’m still so young, so my soul hasn’t been rebuilt yet. I’ve been stripped down to almost nothing, but the only thing keeping me going is that part of my soul I protect so dearly. There might have been someone out there that almost got to see it, but I didn’t let them. I push people away before they get that close, or they leave right before I let them catch a glimpse of it.


That is one of my biggest fears: someone I love leaving with a part of my soul. I rarely ever give anyone a part of me, especially after the first person who took a piece of my soul and broke it into several fragments that I can never get back, rebuild, or piece back together.

I hope that one day I’ll be able to fill the cracks left behind from everyone who has a fragment of my soul. I’ll never be whole again, but I know one day, that someone will make me feel like a whole person again. I’m tired of feeling almost soulless. I’m tired of people peeling me a part and disappearing afterwards.

I’ll hold onto the last bit of my soul for myself and someone who can share this part of me and put together the fragments with theirs – a soul mate, a friend, a lover, a family member, and anyone else.


My soul is mine and I don’t know if I can let someone take another part of me again. Hopefully the last person who is holding it will keep it and cherish it without crushing it into smaller fragments to the point I can no longer handle it.


Maybe he’s been the missing pieces of my soul all along. I just need to finally let him in and hope that he won’t leave and shatter me again.


w a l l s


The problem with getting close to someone – breaking down their walls and/or letting them break down yours – gives them the ability to destroy you in so many ways possible.


And that’s absolutely terrifying.


How do you know if someone is worth letting in? How do you know if you can actually trust them with the most delicate parts of your soul?


You will never know. And that is also terrifying.


That’s where risk comes in. You either jump into whatever it is with caution or completely reckless.


You see, that’s where I have a problem. Never have I not jumped into something recklessly because I’m more of an emotional person than logical, and that fucks me over every time. I never learn sometimes – I feel too much and I never think enough. But I over-think while I let my emotions run wild and that’s never a good thing.


So, where was I?


Oh, yeah. Letting people break down your walls and vice versa.


There’s never a clear answer to whether or not someone is worth giving the power to destroy you. That’s where you step in and you try to think logically on whether or not this person is capable of keeping these fragile parts of your soul in their hands without crushing it.


But, let me tell you something.


These type of things are never easy, I get that. But how are we going to learn anything if we keep ourselves shielded from letting people in? Each individual that we let in can teach us something new about the world. They can even help you learn something new about yourself that you never knew existed. Trust me on that. If they destroy you, then you can take that experience and make yourself into a better person from that. If you need to take a step back and be reckless to fix yourself, then do it. You will learn so much more by taking risks than keeping yourself safe behind your four walls.


Let yourself get hurt. Let that person in and give them that power to destroy you. Only then will you learn about these different types of people, how they work, who to avoid, and who to let in. It will eventually get to a point where you’ll meet someone one day that will change your mind on everything you thought you knew about protecting yourself and you’ll say,


“Fuck it.”


And your whole life will change.

g h o s t


This took me a lot longer than I expected to write. Only because I started writing this when I was in a better place with a whole different outlook on the world, a very naive view of this place. But that changed as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months turned me into this whole new version of myself that I never thought could exist.

Rewind to a few months ago where I supposedly had my life in order: I once had a friend (or rather, acquainted a stranger, for lack of a better word) in this suffocating, nondescript city that I honestly believed was something else; a breath of fresh air – something special.

I remember crashing at this friend’s, sorry, I meant to say stranger’s, house from being too whiskey-wasted. Ah, whiskey, the bane of my existence. It was a little night of adventure and swimming in a sea of blankets in our intoxicated state (lol oops smh).

I woke up an hour later after tossing and turning, tangled in his sheets with alcohol still rushing through my veins and decided to sneak the fuck out before I felt that all of that was real. I stole the shirt he put on me to sleep in and lost my sock in the process of it all, but I didn’t care. I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

I left before either one of us had the ability to hurt the other, before I realized this all actually really happened. The last thing I wanted was to get attached to someone who was already emotionally disconnected and seemingly – a ghost.

I smoked a lot of his cigarettes that night, so I left him a few of mine on the table and I left him a little message with the magnetic poetry I left behind on his fridge so he knew I didn’t treat him like a one night stand because I’m not that kind of person.


“See you someday, my friend. Smile.”


And I snuck out.


How do you go about writing something that was only a small palpitation in amidst the several beatings of an intoxicated heart? Almost the tiniest tremor but in that slightly terrifying moment, you thought you could die. That small frisson stopping you in your tracks and you realize that you need to take a step back, breathe, and calm down but you don’t want to. The feeling is addicting so you hope it might happen again; the adrenaline that you get from experiencing the closest thing to death but not actually dying. That’s what it felt like to get lost in him.

Let’s blame Starbucks, horror movies, a boy with unruly hair, Southern Comfort, and Jack Daniels for what you’re about to read. Whiskey – the one thing that will turn me into a version of myself I never thought existed – thank you for screwing with me this past summer. As if having me puke all over an old boyfriend’s bed (twice), breaking chairs, double fisting Jagermeister and Absolut, and jumping into a pool of Coke wasn’t enough. Thank you.


“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”, that’s the start of every conversation between two old, forgotten friends out there. That’s how all this shit began. Along with a stupid Facebook friend request, quite a few shots, several cigarettes, and this fucking sneaky little bastard.

I may or may not have a thing for tall boys with curly brown hair and a goofy innocent grin to complete the package. I guess the reoccurring pattern is really catching up to me and biting me in the ass. Fuck.

He was someone I knew when I was younger that I considered a friend. I barely knew him, but at that age I was too young to differentiate between a friend and someone I talked to in my classes once or twice a week. I have faint memories of laughter, pairing up for scenes during acting classes, nonsensical conversations and goodbye hugs from those far away days.

I was timid, awkward, introverted, and an entirely other human being at the time and I’m sure he was too, because meeting him again a few months ago made it seem as if I were letting a complete stranger into my life, then letting him walk right back out after he achieved some kind of goal, as if the situation that happened between us was absolutely irrelevant in both of our lives. Much to his oblivion and to mine, it was relevant, unfortunately.

You know when you notice something in someone that you don’t necessarily see in other people and it intrigues you without even realizing it? Whether it’s physical, emotional, or mental, it takes a grip of your mind and you don’t realize until you’re haunted with memories of something that you wished didn’t happen? That you were better off not over-thinking things, that you could’ve done differently to make them see that you’re not just some bitch to fuck when they were feeling lonely and horny? That a better outcome would come up if you did this or that differently?

The ‘something’ that made him different was that being around him was equivalent to taking ecstasy – the experience I had was just like a steep, bumpy roller coaster ride. I experienced an extreme high where everything just felt amazing, but once the effect wore off, the low felt like an absolute train wreck. I don’t think anyone had given me so much anxiety before in my life. This new level of anxiety opened up my eyes to how much I could really handle.

There is so much I’ve learned about myself the past few months than I have in a long, long time. I guess once your soul has been bared down to a blank space, there’s nothing to lose at that point. So it’s okay to start with a new slate and build yourself up once again into a better version of yourself, even if there’s a few bumps on the way that don’t even make sense to your old self.


I have a hard time opening up to anyone, but with the help of a few shots of hard liquor and my clouded, deluded mind, I started to spill out all over a canvas for someone to see – ghost.

You see, the thing about this ghost, was that he wasn’t fond of letting ‘new’ people in. I started to feel a little special there because he seemed to have let me in. But I just piqued his inevitable curiosity when I showcased something he wanted. Something to light a fire in his stagnant life; a temporary muse; another notch on his bed post. Whether or not those were his initial intentions, the aftermath of it all left a burning hole in the back of my head and a sickening feeling in my stomach.

The fact that I was an intriguing conquest, but not fascinating enough to hold a little longer once it was all over, not even as a friend – and I know for a fact that I make a pretty damn good friend – made my brain hurt more than it should have. No one should have the power to do that to someone.


(I can be a conquest, but that wasn’t even the beginning of it. I’m all mountains, caves and deep, dark forests with fires waiting to start with thundering downpour following. Add a few NPCs and (unnecessarily difficult) side quests and that’s basically me in a nutshell. Combine both Skyrim and Diablo and play it in Nightmare mode and wish yourself luck. Or if Ramona Flowers (Scott Pilgrim) and Clementine Kruczynski (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) became one, that would be me.)


It made me think something was wrong with me, that I’ve done something wrong, or that I wasn’t good enough. I started losing my self-worth because all I believed at that point was that I was only good for physical attraction, an empty encasement for people to lose themselves in temporarily. And the worst part of it was that I let myself fall right back into him more than once. I am much more than this whole fucked up ordeal but for some ridiculous reason, I still did it. I was self-destructive. I was becoming a person I never wanted to be. I lost respect for myself when it all came crashing down and I found myself lost in something that only existed on one side of the story.

This is probably not the only time he’s done this to someone, considering he seemed to be well aware of what he was doing, even if he acted oblivious. But let me ask you this – why? This boy could have anyone he wanted and if it was just for physical attraction, why come back to me again and again after the first time? Why not go for the next girl? Maybe I should have known better than to let him, but I didn’t. I didn’t know what I was doing. I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that I am a human being and that I deserve to be treated so much better than this.

I barely knew his favourite colour or how he took his coffee but I knew how his lips and hands felt and how I now have an appreciation for brown eyes because of him.

I honestly believed he was such an endearing goof.

I’m deathly terrified of becoming attached to anyone and this fucking boy – this ghost – has just worsened it even more. I never get attached to people and he almost hit that mark. But he didn’t. Thank God.

In the grand scheme of things, he has no idea that I felt like this with this stupid situation as a contributing factor. Not that he’d care anyway.

He’s most likely onto his next conquest. I just hope the next girl (or boy) isn’t as weak as I was at the time.


Of all the people to cross paths with, why did he have to cut through mine?


Ghost, if you happen to stumble across this, know that you weren’t the only thing that frustrated me this summer nor were you the only thing or person on my mind. I had other concerning things to worry about other than a boy who couldn’t even explain a reason for ghosting someone after stripping them down like that or who can’t even send a text to say, straight up, that you no longer wanted anything to do with them. Or even just text back in general. How hard is it to text someone back? And to be honest, you were probably one of the only things that made my summer relatively better, even if you were a dick (and quite a bit of a fuckboy). Thanks for helping me forget the shit going on in my life for the time I spent with you. That’s one thing I am appreciative about you for.

P.S: Can I have my magnetic poetry back? And my shorts? Copper can keep his gifts – he’s probably ate them all already, not that I mind. I hope he liked them. He was one of my favourite things about you. I hope your weeks/months have been well and hopefully you’re still not being pretty shitty to other people and not be able to explain why. Hopefully we’ll talk again as friends or maybe never talk ever again. You’re unpredictable and I can usually read people easily but you were the first person to make that the hardest task for me. I guess all those acting lessons paid off, eh?

P.P.S: See you someday, my stranger, my ghost. Smile.


a l w a y s


We spent a summer on her balcony, chain smoking into the early hours of the morning, talking about taking over the world and what adventures we would embark on together. I loved her and she loved me too, but we never talked about it. We could both feel it, yet we never said a thing to each other.

And now she’s gone and we are no longer together.

We’re on separate paths and I keep trying to hold onto this string between her and I, dragging along a huge piece of our history behind us – despite being worlds apart – to have some kind of closure, but she’s moved on to better things.

So am I, but I’ll keep her in my heart and memories. Always.

I’m so happy for her. I hope she doesn’t replace me in her heart because no one could replace her in mine. 

t r a p p e d

He was one hard pill to swallow, and he was one regretful, unforgettable night with her head in the toilet, expelling the contents of everything the pill released through her pulsing veins.

She’s never been bitter about anyone or anything until he decided to touch her soul and ruin her. She was a free spirit; a wanderess. She was never one to settle, to never invest, to never be tied down. But suddenly, she found herself locked unwillingly in a cage, fighting to break through the indestructible bars with her weak fists. He was the captor and she was the victim. But she cared for him and she didn’t care how much it killed her to be trapped, even when he couldn’t give two fucks about her.

Being trapped began to drain her of her free spirit nature. She soon became introverted and locked away – cold, distant, and bitter. She’s never been like this before.

She was tainted by his poison and there was no antidote to save her from the wrenching pain it was causing her muscles. But, she believed he was the cure to the pain he was causing her.

Love shouldn’t feel like this.

“It’s not love.” She murmured to herself.

Delusional and masochistic. That’s what she was. She clung onto dear life to something she so badly wanted that the only rational way to explain her addiction to this pain was ‘love’. But it isn’t.

a n g e l

Brown eyes, unruly curly brown hair, an innocent grin and dark ripped jeans with a cigarette between his lips.
That’s how I remembered that the devil could be disguised as an angel
Because an angel would never cause this much pain to someone’s soul.

f r o m m e t o y o u



How do you discuss a topic on an extremely vague, controversial and bitter-sweet feeling? It’s four letters, one word, minuscule almost – however, it’s one of the most overrated and underrated experiences someone goes through at least once in their lifetime. Everyone has different perceptions of love and they all go through it very differently in several ways. Whether you’re still in love, whether it ended badly or faded into nothing, whether you’re experiencing something unrequited, it’s an experience we all find ourselves lost and inevitably invested in for a long time.

We’ve all heard, watched, and read about love and they all either seem cliché, unattainable, completely ridiculous or maybe even hopeful. We have our own stories and each are very unique but we tend to keep these details to ourselves. It’s almost as if we retell these stories, we feel that the last bit of love we have left in us may slip through our fingers and never come back. That will only happen if you let it.

I’ve never been one to talk about my experiences with love, but I did indulge in posting on social media of my prior relationship from time to time and gushed about it in my journals, just like a love-stricken teenager would. A quite conventional high school sweetheart love story, but there is so much more to it than meets the eye. It’s a story that requires a lot of closure and an ear to listen to its jumbled mess. That’s why I’m writing this to you. You may have heard different versions of our story, whether from him or through the grapevine, but this is mine.

Let me tell you about the only boy I have ever loved.

He and I never really talked until a friend of mine asked him for advice to go about expressing his feelings for me and possibly ensue a relationship. The whole scenario backfired and I fell for him instead. Damn, I fell hard for those blue eyes of his, too.

It was an extremely cold day in December ’09 and I remember that we clutched onto each other for warmth at a bus stop a little past the train tracks outside of our neighbourhood. We could see our breath passing through the little space we had between us and we joked about smoking and talked about the little things in life, keeping ourselves warm with laughter as we froze our nips off waiting for the bus in the snow.

I didn’t know if my cheeks were red from the cold or from him. And my cheeks never turn red unless I’m inebriated. I just remembered that all I wanted to do was to be close to him, no matter how small the gesture or plans were. I think I loved him before I even realized I was capable of loving someone.

We were two completely different people – almost polar opposites of each other, but somehow we gravitated towards each other, despite the circumstances.

We were like complementary colours, directly opposite of each other on the colour wheel. He was green and I was red and somewhere amongst the mess we made of mixing with each other, we found love. (FYI: Green and red do not mix well nor does the mixture make a pretty colour. It makes an ugly brown.) Yet, the two colours, together, somehow complement each other, especially during the holidays. You know that feeling you get during Christmas time? The unexplainable happiness, nostalgia, love and excitement? It felt like that every time I was with him. I was happy. I was so, so happy.

Green has always been associated with ‘go’, the forest, nature, and peacefulness. It’s a positive colour and it resonated well as red’s complementary colour. However, red has always been associated with ‘stop’, warning, blood, and anger. It’s a negative colour and somehow, even though I was red, I still managed to reel someone who was green towards me.

People were drawn to him. Me, not so much. Somehow, he was drawn to me and taught me how to love unconditionally and he loved me unconditionally. I was very hard to love and be with, but he stayed. He stayed with me for five years.

He and I both grew up together during those five years, and little did we know, we slowly started growing apart as we became adults. I changed almost completely. With everything that happened to me during that time, I’m still surprised he wanted to be with me through all that.

I spent every Christmas, Easter, Canada Day, birthday (even his siblings and parents’ birthdays), and any holiday you could think of, with him and his family. I was so invested and in love with him and his family that we became a family. I never once questioned my love for them (To this day, I’ll always love them and care about them, even if they hate me now). I couldn’t even imagine a life without him and his family until my colour started changing. From red, to blue, to purple, to a colour that has a fucked up name – a colour that no longer resonated with green. His colour never wavered once because he just grew into a more deeper shade of green.

That’s how I wanted to grow: stable and confident in the colour I radiated. I was incapable of that because I was constantly unsure and in doubt about everything. I never really knew who I was when I was with him. All I knew was that I loved him and wanted to be with him, so I put my entire heart, soul and being into our relationship to the point that I completely forgot who I was, as an individual; as a human being. I became a lifeless, lost soul that only knew how to love him, but not myself. How could I love someone I barely knew?

Towards the last year of our relationship, I noticed how corrupted our communication with each other became. We talked at each other, but not with each other. We would bottle everything up and it would fill up until it exploded, making the mess even harder to fix. Insecurities became prominent and we started to be more distant, even if we spent 90% of our time together. We started to be unappreciative of each other. We took each other for granted. We hurt each other, but we never talked about it. We pretended everything was okay, right until the end. It was too late at that point. Our colours no longer resonated.

Our love seemed beautifully flawless before all that. Almost like a ’90s television show. We were definitely not Cory and Topanga from Boy Meets World, but fuck, we were pretty damn close. I wanted to marry him and at some point, I know he wanted to marry me, too.

Not all beautiful things have a happy ending. Not all relationships are guaranteed a forever. Not all first loves will be your last, but it will be the last time you will feel everything like this for the first time. We always told each other that we would love each other forever, but it doesn’t mean that we would be together forever. In this time of our lives, being together, and pardon my lack of knowledge of math, is just like geometry. We are like two perpendicular lines – crossing each other at one point of our lives, but possibly never again. I’m grateful that we were never two parallel lines with one another, because I wouldn’t be the person I am today if we never crossed.

Our story could be an entire novel, but not everyone needs to know the intricate details of our little story. He was once mine and I was once his and we loved each other until the universe decided it was time for us to be apart so we could find the strength to finally love our own selves, as separate beings.

He will always hold a special place in my heart and I hope I do for him as well.

Thank you for everything, blue. Thank you for being unapologetically yourself when you were with me. You taught me so much about myself and about life that I never knew until I met you.

I really hope you and your family are doing well. Please, take care. We’ll see each other again one day.

Yours sincerely,


P.S: I will still send you stupid memes about Drake, ridiculous gifs of Kanye, and gush about our love for pizza and poutine because you’re still the only one that gets me, even at weird hours of the day.

P.P.S: My mom says hi and wants to invite you to eat Mandarin with us sometime. She hopes you’re doing well, too.

s o u l m a t e s

I’ve never been one to believe in soul mates, but that was before I learned that it’s more than a romantic relationship; a lover; a life partner; a spouse. Everyone’s definition of a soul mate is different, but here is mine.

A soul mate is beyond romance. It is a connection between souls that the universe created – a connection that is almost indescribable in words. It’s described in feeling, energy, and connection; you will just know when you find them. You are given this one-of-a-kind magnetism and there is someone out there that radiates the same kind of magnetism that pulls you together, regardless of how many times you are pulled apart. You gravitate towards that other person, with no discrimination against gender, race, orientation, or anything for that matter. That is your soul mate. You will know when you meet them and they will know it too.

I met my soul mate a long time ago and we were pulled a part. Life couldn’t keep us together under certain circumstances and we were too young to realize that we were soul mates at the time. However, the universe decided that our gravitational forces were too close to keep us a part for that long, so our souls found each other on Earth and our magnetism attracted one another, and I found her again. She found me again. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

I never realized that we were soul mates for the longest time until I came to terms with the fact that a soul mate wasn’t always necessarily romantic. I used to believe the notion that my soul mate had to be someone I was involved with that was more than platonic.

The way I see it, right now, is that I still have so much to learn about this magnetism between her and I. The connection is unfathomable, but that’s why ‘soul mates’ is an extremely vague, open-ended topic. It’s indescribable in words.

All I know is that I just love her and she loves me, against all odds. And I thank the universe for this constant in my life, because I’ve finally found my soul mate.

c h o k e

She’s never been one to wear fancy jewellery.

But she will wear your hand around her neck like the several pairs of chokers she owns
In hopes that you’ll suffocate her with your love, lust, frustration and desperation;

Bruising the absolute fuck out of her skin and her heart
And leaving your marks all over her delicate body while fucking her one last time.

All in the delusion that you branded her and now she is artificially yours
Because the only time she loves pain is when it comes from your hands and your mind.

b u r n

I remember it burned. Each kiss you planted on my frail skin burned.

As deceiving as those velvet lips were trailing up my bruised thighs, it soothed the ache in my bones for your touch; there was a burning sensation within me that was and is inextinguishable. From you.

You murmured sweet nothings into my skin before I fell asleep on your heaving chest, my hand perfectly placed over your heart, your fingers running through my hair and our legs tangled together under the sheets in sweet, intoxicating bliss.

This is only temporary. I thought, finding myself awake in the early hours of the morning, snuggled into your chest and your arm thrown over me. I basked in that moment before we both rolled away from each other on the opposite sides of your bed. You, sound asleep. I, wide awake.

It is temporary. I slowly sat up, gathering my things and weaving through the deafening silence of your house, finding an escape within this empty void that disguised itself in intoxication. I tried to find an escape within something I considered an escape from the loneliness of my life.

I want to forget this. Because I don’t want to feel the burning sensation of your ghostly touch over my body. I may hold a stoic and indestructible outward persona but inside, I’ve been melted by the fire you started; burned down to ashes.

I will indulge in others to put out this fire. However, it’s not that easy. I cannot heal the burns you left behind – the burns you left have scarred me to the point that I cannot completely forget your existence. Now, it’s only hidden under the touch of several others; you’re the foundation to anyone else who tries to extinguish the flame. The only thing in my mind would be the scars. From you.

I’d rather burn in your flames than drown in someone else’s ocean, trying to get rid of you in my system. To flood out the undying forest fire in my soul with thundering downpour would be a waste of time – I’ll never forget the moment you clasped your hand around my neck and breathed fire into my lungs the moment our lips touched. It burned.

And I wanted it to burn.