A certain kind of addiction.

Perhaps you are my heroin, my coke, my ecstasy on demand.
You make me wonder how I can live without you, the addictions worsens with every dose I take.
I doubt that I can ever leave you now without cutting open the veins to let out the bad blood.
Even missing you is addicting, it makes me feel giddy with anticipation to see you next time.

Hello, Hello, my certain kind of addiction.



Many people look for the meaning of love their whole lives and fail to find the true meaning of the word, or their own way to express it. I wouldn’t say that love has a fixed meaning, for everyone has different interpretations of love, but I think it can be said to be a feeling or a rush of emotions that is so strong it leaves you breathless and paralysed because of the thrill it brings, or the sweet, inkling feeling of security and assurance, a safety net if you would. 

If you ask a 5 year old, she would probably tell you that love is not eating all the chocolate chip cookies and saving it for that one special someone.

If you ask a 15 year old, she would probably tell you that love is being able to belong with someone and feel butterflies and fireworks every time your eyes meet.

If you ask a 25 year old, she would probably tell you that love is sacrificing time and energy to be with someone you like and feeling secure about the relationship.

If you ask a 35 year old, she would probably tell you love is a battle between two souls that long to be together but can’t, a romantic fairytale.

If you ask a 45 year old, she would just tell you love is a bad habit of giving your heart away without thinking properly.

On and on goes the different views of love, but if you ask me, I would tell you, it is the feeling of calmness when you are with the person you love, the safeness of his arms and the smell of his soap. It’s the feeling of happiness, not a forced sort of happiness, but a simple, uncomplicated version of this tricky emotion. The feeling of utter bliss without trying, the feeling of satisfaction, no longer the emptiness felt before. It is sort of like a puzzle piece clicking together to form one whole shape, the edges perfectly fitted, not even an inch more or less. The gaps between your fingers are where mine should be, and your shoulder is just where my head should rest. That is what I think is love.

Little brick house

The little girl sat with her arms around her knees, stuck in the same rut for year now. When was the last time she last tasted the freedom that she longed for? Her shackles bound her to the ground, the chains clinking with every movement she made, reminding her of her identity, her namelessness, her worthlessness. She was stuck between four brick walls, red rudimentary bricks piling up towards the sky until all that was left was the little opening at the top, showing the clear blue sky that was above her. Sometimes she hated the way the walls were not able to block away the sky as well, giving her the sense of longing, giving her a false hope that someday maybe she will be able to soar in the skies herself. Sometimes she was grateful for that tiny opening that was there, the only way to keep her from the darkness and stay sane, the hopes of something in the future, a future full of promises and possibilities.

How did the wall come to be you ask? The girl just shakes her head sadly, deflated like that balloon from last christmas, once full of confidence of staying in the sky after being let go off, until eventually it let out the air that kept it high in the sky. She knows who built the wall, who wouldn’t know their own masterpiece? Brick by brick she placed them over and over again on each other, not knowing that this will soon result in her bitter imprisonment. She places them carefully, as if fearing to be hurt again by the rough edges of that stone-red brick. She stays focused on the task, to protect herself from the outside world, to keep out those who want to hurt her.

One after another, the bricks stacked together to become a invincible fort.