Falling Apart and Burning


I am sitting in a burning room and all I can say is that I am fine. By the next few minutes, I would be buried with my ruins of my sanity. I am watching flames dance until everything becomes ashes along with my desire to live. Turned off my phone, my Wifi, and social life.  I do not need a public confession of what is spinning in my head. Even loneliness left me by midnight.

Pieces of Peace: My Anxiety is not Romantic



My anxiety is not romantic. My anxiety is not a fetish you can bring into the bedroom.  Someone told you that someone with anxiety is a great lover.  You believe because of my constant need of validation that everything will be okay; I will pour my energy into our relationship.  You are sadly mistaken because I have no energy left to give.

It is not cute when I wake up in the morning. My alarm goes off and I hit snooze. What I do is this; I lay there on the bed feeling this heavy weight on my body.  I try to find the reason why until I’ve come up with a dozen conclusions on why I should get up. But instead, I lay there for an extra ten minutes because I am exhausted.

There are days I jolt up and my heart is racing. I have been thinking about the same problem from the night before and I hate myself that I haven’t found a solution. And even if I did, I probably woke up thinking my solution would just add to the problem. There are days I wake up crying because I have no idea what to do.

There are days I’d wake up three in the morning thinking about the context of a day old conversation.  Or worry about how I may not have enough money in my account until my head conjures up worse case scenarios. Until I’d start to sweat, my stomach churning, and my heart trying to beat out of my chest. There are nights I feel like the Tell Tale Heart because I hear a heartbeat in the room deafening me.

Though I should’ve just went back to sleep rather than keep myself up all night.  If I try to fall asleep all I do is fidget, toss, and turn. I’d think about every problem in my life, from point A to point Z. Only to find it coming back to me.  If it wasn’t for me I wouldn’t have anxiety. Yes, I know it does not make any sense.

Will you still find my anxiety cute when I get an anxiety attack? It feels like I’m choking on air, my heart is trying to beat out of my chest, and everything is hazy. Would you still find it cute when I walk through a crowd trying to steady my breathing? Or would you feel like you are saving me? It would be nice to have a shoulder to lean on. Someone to talk to about my frequent bursts of irrationality rather than hide it and pretend I am okay.

Darling, I need a friend, not a knight or a soldier. Better yet tell me that I should seek help. I do not want you to say that you want to fix me because I am not broken. I am sick, not a jigsaw puzzle.

So please, my anxiety is not a character trait. It is an illness. I need a doctor, not a lover. I am not broken.

Pieces of Peace: “New Love, past pieces”


Now explain to me this: how can you possibly love me?

How you can love someone so damaged baffles me because I can’t see what you see. But I would like to welcome you here, where every single one of my relationships came to die.

Oh they’re all still alive; they just decided they were better off living without me though there were moments where I was the one who cut the ties and declined the pending relationship status. However I rather not explain moments or misinterpreted words and going into full detail about what led to our demise.

Instead let me introduce to you the pieces I mention in most of my work, actual pieces, things they gave before deciding to call it quits. Before one of us grew tired of the other and before one of us chose someone else.

Fair warning, my past loves are not exactly picturesque.

Here’s the first piece a worn out shirt, it’s still in my closet buried beneath most of my other clothes. Its red, his favourite colour and it was mine too for a brief time. Because I was fourteen and forcing myself to believe we were soul mates. So stupid to fall for the first boy to give me the attention I thought I deserved. I watched too many romantic comedies if you asked me, because when a boy smiled and said the kindest of words I was hooked.

Three days later he called me crazy and we broke up after fighting about something so insignificant only two teenagers would find it as a reason to break up.

And now the next piece is a cliché, the usual gift for your first month together. It’s a teddy bear; I cuddled it as much as we did. It’s still on my desk because it fits the aesthetics. When I’m drunk and thinking of him I stare at the bear wondering every single what if. He was “the one that got away” in other words I was a clueless bitch who didn’t understand how a relationship worked. I loved his company yet I didn’t show it.

He gave me flowers, I scoffed at the bouquet and said hated roses then he gave me chocolates I ate them of course. He never asked for anything so I never gave.

I wonder if he thought of me as often as I thought of him. Looking back at how we left things, I was apologizing and I forgot what for. But I do remember him leaving me in the cafe because he didn’t want to fight anymore.

The third one is on my bookshelf, it’s been sitting there for a while collecting dust. It’s a book, a pretty good one too. I didn’t know him well but I did wish he came with a premise so I knew what to expect. Instead I was impressed with his words and blindsided by his plot twist, a week before Christmas he decided I was only worth two weeks.

I never actually finished the book but I always tell people it’s my favourite. When in fact it’s not, I think the only lines I’ve re-read over and over were the ones he wrote on the front page hoping that I’d love his gift.

I did for a moment because I was so in love with him that I associated my feelings with the book and the only reason why it’s still on my shelf is because even if he didn’t stay doesn’t mean the book has to pay the price for his stupid mistake.

I can stop if you want; because I already mentioned three out of five and yes I’ve shortened the list for your benefit. You do not need to know the others because most of them are in the trash. You might want to walk away now before I get to the last two. Honestly I wouldn’t even blame you.

So here’s our fourth piece, like it? It’s another cliché it’s his jacket. It’s too big for me; I don’t know why I still have it. I even washed it because I didn’t like the smell of beer and cigarettes

I thank God it doesn’t smell like him anymore because I see that jacket and I remember that night.  He said he was drunk, but even if you drown enough bottles and had enough shots you would know what your girlfriend looked like in a hazy state. It’s easy to be unfaithful in a relationship that bored you, though it still hurt when I saw him tonguing with another bitch.  He was a firm believer in “actions speak louder than words” so instead of saying he no longer wanted to be with me, he showed it.

I forgot to give his stupid jacket back because if I saw his face I might end up punching him again. But we’re all good; he said I could keep it now it’s just for display.  A daily reminder that anyone can screw you over.

And here it is the fifth and final piece, a broken CD. It’s from this boy and I’m pretty sure you’ve heard about him. There isn’t anyone who doesn’t know about the feelings I had for him, my manic pixie dream boy.

They said that he and I were soul mates, meant to be and fate finally brought us to meet and I broke the mix CD he gave me hoping it would shatter that image of us.

It took around… three years until I decided we were better of co-existing because I was tired of being a hopeless romantic thinking he would finally feel the same way. I placed him on a pedestal and after three years I finally kicked him off it.

Rather than trying to stitch moments to be something we could’ve been. We are now dancing the waltz of constant avoidance and forced distance.

Do you still love me? Because I don’t want you to be part of this museum of faults, I do not want you to be with this person carrying this much baggage. I’m willing to give you an exit strategy, there’s a map in my pocket that will lead you to the nearest exit.


Pieces of Peace: i am not your manic pixie dream girl


I could just be some hipster wanna be but instead you called me a manic pixie dream girl” some two dimensional literary trope.

It was sweet at first how you liked me the moment you saw me though that should’ve been a red flag. You said the moment you saw me and not the moment you met me. Instead of asking me out for coffee, you decided to stare at me from afar. You said you were shy around attractive girls, thanks for the flattery but a “hello” would be more appreciated.

Congratulations you finally asked me out but I could tell that you were disappointed. You were a writer, a poet you specifically said, and you hoped I would fill the lines of your leather bounded journals. You mistook my energy as bubbly, my smile as charismatic and my reserved answers as mysterious.

My appearance might’ve deceived you and I am not even sporting bangs! Yes I like vintage and dress like I’m walking out of a 2006 pop punk music video but I am not a two dimensional trope.

Sure I said I have a place in my heart for quirky films and indie flicks. Yes I said that I prefer indie pop over mainstream pop. My favourite band has some obscure name and my favourite movie was directed by Wes Anderson. But like I said, maybe I’m an annoying hipster chick and not someone who is setting up your romantic storyline.

I am not a storyline.  I am not going to be with you for 500 torturous days where you’ll only love me for a split second until you see my flaws. Until you realize that I am as mundane as you are. I did not like everything you did, i did not brush off every mistake you’ve made with “I understand” and I broke your image when I was talking like a normal person. I forgot to speak in metaphors and confusing pop culture analogies. You hated that I was real.

When you realized not everything was an adventure, not everything that came out of my mouth was a snarky comment and I was boring to say the least. You got tired of me when I preferred to stay in, when I didn’t want to resolve our fight with sex, when I recalled my day at work or at school and you definitely hated me the moment you realized I am not as perfect as you wrote me out to be.

Please fall in love with a person, it’s such a treacherous thing to fall for a character you created.

Pieces of Peace: “saviour of a toxic romance”


In the long run, you’ll realize that there are a few relationships in life that’s not worth saving. Do not constantly remind yourself that you are in love. Or tell yourself that there is no one else in the world that will love and tolerate you because you’re only settling down with someone for the sake of not being alone.

It’s going to be hard but at some point you have to realize your relationship is dead. There’s no use staying when you are unhappy because if you do, it might turn toxic. Because there will always be someone whose pride is too big to admit the spark is gone and another who is trying to avoid any conflict.

To some extent you give yourself small reason on why you should stay though the number one reason would always be to avoid crippling loneliness so you might as well stay with the because let’s face it, you’re no good in being single. Why venture into the great world of tinder mismatches and awful blind dates? When you can live your life in benign mediocrity with someone who might not make you happy but can try to make you smile every once in a while?

But then again you end up in this stagnant state, where you try so hard to shake things up. Try so hard to feel something because let’s face it, you look at your significant other and wonder how you can tolerate each other for so long without any physical or psychological alteration. You are constantly reminding yourself that you SHOULD be happy with them regardless of any disappointment or resentment or grievances they may give you because you are both so stupidly and irreversibly in love with each other.  Well that’s what you tell yourself.

One will always go through great lengths to make it seem that the relationship is still alive. Most of the time it’s a one sided thing, a receiver and the most admirable giver of the situation. They’re the ones that give you little surprises, have photographic memory they use as leverage when giving you nostalgic gifts based on inside jokes and firsts.  They are the ones who would do anything to make you stay.

Then you’re there sitting around wondering why they do this. You feel as if they’re guilt tripping you for the things you forget, for the various things occupying your mind and for just lying there while they look like the hero of the romantic comedy, the saviour of romance.

Then you reach a high point or boiling point in the relationship, where one small insignificant detail can turn into a mess. You’re always irritable and they always seem to nag or look like they never listen to you. You find yourself getting mad more often than usual, even about the smallest of things.

To the point that being mad is the only emotion you can feel around them. The only way to show some sort of affection or passion is by screaming at the top of your lungs or at least make a sarcastic side comment about how YOU do most of the work in the relationship. Though you have to admit they make you smile every once in a while but you end up finding a reason to be mad at them. The worst part is you don’t see this as toxic but as a way to fight for your dying relationship, to prove that it’s still worth it.

You actually miss your Tinder mismatches because at least you can easily cut loose the stupid fools and move on to the next brainless horny bastard.

As you sit there waiting for the next argument, the next sweet surprise and wondering if physical intimacy will be the saving grace of your relationship, your mind wanders to what if situations you actually wish were true. You then realized how unfulfilled your life is, how discontented you are and then realize maybe your relationship isn’t worth it. There’s a growing resentment between the two of you that turned into the elephant in the room that you try so hard to avoid.

If you have to remind yourself that you’re happy and in love, you’re not really happy or in love, would you rather grow together knowing that you harbour strong and hateful feelings towards each other? Or would you rather escape the toxic environment both of you are creating?

Pick the second choice.

Pieces of Peace: Lonely Morning Hangovers


I want to wake up beside you because I want to know how it feels when your body curls next to mine. I want to feel your skin under the covers and our legs intertwined. I want to feel your lips pressed on my forehead as you slowly doze off. Your arms wrapped around me until the morning chimes in. I would patiently wait for the night so I could lay beside you again.

Let’s give a better meaning to “goodnight” and “good morning” whenever we’re close, no pillows between us. All I want is to wake up beside you and rid myself of lonely mornings. Aside from sleeping and waking there are others things we could do. Because there’s nothing better than staying in bed with you.

I want to kiss your lips and trace your skin with my hands. I want to feel my heart racing when you’re in between my legs. I want my screams building up in my throat waiting for the right moment to let it all out. I don’t want to distinguish our breathing or heart beats because I’ll be too busy trying to keep the rhythm of our bodies in sync.

We can lay innocently as well because intimacy isn’t always sex. But it’s still an option we can consider as I lay my head on your chest and you play with my hair.

That is all I want to do, wake up, fall asleep, and lay beside you. Let’s turn our bodies into maps and find the right spots and directions to reach our destination. Let’s drink wine until our conversations are sentimental and philosophical gibberish. Let’s stare at the ceiling watching shadows and imagine constellations.

All of this as we lay next to each other until we wake up and find ourselves interlaced from the night before. All I want is to wake up next to you, that is my only desire as of this moment.

Let me wake up to your eyes, your heartbeat and our bodies intertwined.

Pieces of Peace: Letters I Never Sent



We’ve gotten closer; we exchanged books and playlists which were equivalent to sharing pieces of our souls. We shared secrets that we never told anyone else and it was the first time anyone would raise a fist to protect me. You gave me a book and I saw it as a way to tell me that you cared more than you let on.

It was also during those six months I saw you crumble.

You were depressed, you were in a dark place and I didn’t know what to do for a while. I gave you the space and advice you needed. That was when I realized I knew you well like a routine, I made sure that I didn’t tick you off or reminded you of your crippling sadness. Instead I tried to get your smile and charisma back.

I desperately wanted you happy even though I wasted so much of my time and energy trying to make that happen.


It was an unrequited sort of situation. Such a masochistic form of love, loving someone but not doing anything about it instead you’re just there at a near distance. Looking at you is like looking at a literal what if, what can happen but I was too afraid to lose it.

You were my Achilles’ heel, the only exception and the reason for my cowardice. I had so many chances to say how I felt however none of them felt right. Most of the time I’m too late to reveal anything. Other times I try to move on only to find myself with assholes.

You were the mistake I couldn’t afford to make.


Summer rolled in.

I spent three months drunk, loud and sober and then mooned over another boy who had a fascination with my legs. I tasted freedom, vodka and lips of a few regrets. But I did forget about you every moment I was in somebody else’s bed or arms.


When I wrote “I never minded chasing you” I was referring to you and not him.


We are compatible in personality and interests but it wasn’t fate that let us meet. It was random coincidences that lead us to each other. No destiny working there because I’m pretty sure the universe has better plans than trying to get us together.


It’s weird that it took me this long to write about us when there was never an “us” to begin with. You were the idea I fell in love with, you were the friend I trusted and now we’re co-existing.

Maybe in five years’ time we will talk again. We would mature by then. We would be different people by then and maybe just maybe I stopped writing poetry about you.


There’s this Jesse McCartney song from 2006 that applies so well to what I’m feeling at the moment.

Letter Eight:

I like him. I love you. I really like him. I loved you. Past tense.


He’s wonderful, he’s great and then I’ll say “he’s not you.”

Which is the best part because why would I want another you?


Thanks for not ignoring me.


Pieces of Peace: Dear Cupid You’re A Jerk


Want a tip? Never get drunk and fall in love or you’ll end up like me.

There I was finally twenty years old and with the worst hangover one could ever experience in their lifetime. My head hurts, my back felt as if I’ve lost my spine and then I had class in the next 45 minutes. Also my mouth tasted like vomit and I was lucky I did not sleep in a pool of my own stomach waste.

But there was still a bitter taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of, even after downing a bottle of mouthwash. Because mouthwash cannot help your metaphoric bitterness, it can help you with plaque though.

Great he’s part of the long list of fuck ups I’ve encountered in many of my romantic endeavors.

When you’re about to tell the love of your life that there was no way in hell that you will only be “just friends” please make sure they are single. For crying out loud your life will never be a romantic comedy, that is what I tell myself everyday for motivational reasons. Because in romantic comedies a huge romantic gesture or confession fixes everything but in real life you don’t get that. In real life you have to understand consequences and what might affect your relationship with the person if you ever see each other again.

However there was one thing you get to experience as if you’re in a cheesy romantic comedy, the craziness.

They said love makes you crazy but then again no one likes to experience temporary insanity. Especially with alcohol involved though I’ve done regrettable things in the name of love sober as well. This one just happens to be the worst of the worst.

I still have my journals to prove it. From bad poetry to mindless and shallow rambling about crushes I never approached. There are guidelines to a list of mistakes I told myself never to repeat also stories that make good memories. Even the ones with heartache because those shape us to be who we are and how we perceive love.

Oh bullshit, I will be honest I only have one person to blame for the mess that is my love life and he’s an angel wearing a diaper.  This stupid diaper-wearing-angel is named Cupid and he decided to introduce me to his world by shooting me with one of his arrows of love. 

I was in second grade when love decided to tug on my heart strings. He was a fifth grader; obviously my nine-year-old self did not understand age gaps. Age wasn’t an issue for her, the issue was how not to look like an idiot around him. Which meant constant avoidance, I was nine you can’t blame me for thinking I’d do something stupid if I was in his presence.

Though what fifth grade boy would talk to a second grader? In my nine-year-old eyes he was interesting, cute, mature and way out of my league. He was in the stages of puberty while I played with my toys and sang along to Disney movies. Also I was weird, not only did I love Disney princesses but I was obsessed with comic book heroes. He would probably cringe if he knew I drew the Hulk and Cinderella running off to the sunset.

I had fantasies dedicated to him. He was my image of prince charming. Of course I was nine and since I was avoiding him I settled for distanced encounters. Back then his name was written at the back of my Spider-man notebook. Now I can’t even recall his name much less his face. Eleven years later I only remember that first crush feeling.

It’s weird how I always looked for his face, now I can’t even remember the colour of his eyes.

My first crush lasted for about a year and that was where it all began. Once love gives you a taste, it’s going to be persistent to give you a full meal.

And damn I already had an appetite for it at such an early age. We think we’re the ones addicted to love when in fact it’s love that’s obsessed with us. If Cupid is real then he is an asshole.

Dear Cupid, you’re a fucking jerk.


Pieces of Peace: Young Uncertainty


When I was sixteen years old I contemplated about death. I had suicidal thoughts when I was fifteen and I at some point had a suicide attempt. I will not get into too much detail on that because it’s all behind me and my future is looking bright. Well I’d like to think it is so I might at as well have a positive outlook on life.

I again had two journals in the span of one school year. This entry was written during the second half of my junior year. After the drama I started contemplating about my life and if the future is as dim as my present was at the time.


The sky looks white, not a single hint of blue. It’s Clean and very cloudy like my own mind. I’m in a  certain dark state in my life where I have no idea what to do or say without being bombarded. I’m quite fragile right now. I should be making a tune for my song but it’s quite hard really. when I can barely concentrate. 

In a few weeks the school year is ending and then I have to be planning for college and my life. I have the vision of my life but they are illustration I can only see them not feel it or live it. I’m 16 and basically still young and willing to live. There are a lot of experiences yet to live. I still have time until death reaches for my neck and strangles me. 

That’s the thing, you have no idea when you are going to die. Maybe right now or tomorrow or the next ten years. Death loves surprising people, it might even come knocking on your door 3 in the morning or in the middle of the road. Yeah, death is a bitch like that stalking you until it find the right moment to kill your sorry ass. Sometimes it whispers to you, making your mind drown in dark and painful thoughts manipulating you to make your death your choice. But it isn’t, would you have expected to kill yourself? No one did and even you never did. Can you stop it? No, no one can.

Even though death hurts and is one big pain in the ass. It keeps the balance of this world. I mean, everyone dies and they die for a reason the same way we live for a reason. We live to experience and then die to leave the world a memory at the same time we die to give way to another life. Death is quite mysterious and for some reason I am quite fascinated by it. 

Like I said it can strangle you with its cold hands before you lest expected it. It teaches us a lesson as soon as we close our eyes or if we have seen death in action. Death tells us to life as if it’s never watching us.


It made me wonder what do people think I should feel.  because I honestly feel like nothing most of the time. I have to constantly remind myself time and time again this is what happy feels like. When I’m clearly not happy and this is more than just slump.

I had dark thoughts in the past but these thoughts are more like uncertainty and being lost. I don’t want to feel like nothing and I apologize for my 16 year old self that this dilemma has reached great heights rather than be put to rest.

Until now I am fascinated with death.I accepted the fact we will all die and there’s no point in being afraid of death. Despite the cheesy way I wrote before I understood how my 16 year old self felt. I was afraid of graduating high school because I had no clue what to do in college. Now I’m facing the same dilemma with college. I am so unsure what to do with my life that it’s sad and pathetic.

There are days I feel like nothing. Not like I’m thin air or I’m invisible. I feel like I was placed here to do something and I’m so lost with what to do.  I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing in my life that I could be proud of. I feel empty inside and I don’t know what to fill it with.

But then again I remind myself that I have every tomorrow to find myself. The future is blurry and I may not know what’s going to happen but I’d like to believe that everything I say or do affects it. It’s going to change and will not comply to the plans I’ve mapped out in my head.

It’s life.


Pieces of Peace: Drama Reserved For High School


High School is not complete without the usual drama. Boy was Junior year full of it. At the time I was suffering from emotional stress and depression. It was a little hard for me to put up a straight front much less a happy one. It was a weird time for me, not only was I insecure but I had trouble keeping my pride in check. This was a time in my adolescence where apologizing symbolized weakness and submission. It took a while for me to realize that forgiveness could be easy without the ego.

If someone didn’t like me I immediately didn’t like them or at least talked about them. It was hard when it was someone I considered a friend. A friend that most of my peers would question why I was even friends with her in the first place. Especially when I found out the things she said about me. The first three days after I found out were filled with awkward tension and thick silence that could be easily cut with a simple apology.

I even remember the group texts that lead me to find out. Then I found out she was talking about another friend and that friend was also talking about her. It felt like Mean Girls, I took it the hardest. How did I handle it? By writing a song about her and then showing my other friends for them to see how hurt I was.

Because for a teenage girl who thought she was well liked by most of her peers it destroyed my self esteem. I was already insecure and finding out some people thought I was flirty and bitchy made me feel worse about myself. Though this was the first composition where I cussed during a time where I thought it was very un-lady like to cuss.

Thursday October 20, 2011

Let me see you put your hands up
You’re hiding behind that screen
Turn around and face me
My back won’t take anymore messages
Stabbing people with your sharp swords
Filling them up with pathetic words
Get a life don’t you get it?
Let me hear you say it

She says I’m sleazy, I’m easy, and I’m lazy
But who are you to say it?
You say I’m flirty, I’m bitchy
So come here and say it to my face

Hey backstabber turn around
Toss that shit down
Hey backstabber you with your
Whispering knives
With a habit of ruining other people’s lives
Hey backstabber turn around!

She says I’m a freak and a giant cry baby
But honey you got nobody
So try and toss that to my face
You run, you hide and you cut it down
Hating on my secretly
You smile with so much plasticity
Acting as if you’re really that friendly

All you’re going to do is hide behind that door
Peeking through every window
Then twist and turn every words
Manipulate everything I said
Whispering to the next ear open
Spreading like wild fire
You dirty little liar
Come and say it to my face

Why yes this is me however this picture was taken two years ago for an assignment. I saw it fitting for this entry.

Teenage angst and girl drama in one piece. I present to you my junior year. Actually this sums up it all up. Not only was I back-stabbed oh I was also the backstabber in one occasion. I thought of this person as a friend at the time however because of jealousy another person took over. I saw her differently and I definitely treated her differently. I talked about her, divulged her secrets and said awful things about her to other people.

Of course karma worked fast she heard about it and it was a month of constant avoidance. Until I put my pride aside and finally apologized. It was one thing being a friendless loser because no one likes you and it was another to be a friendless loser because you were being an asshole. I was an asshole and I had to own up to it rather than put up a wall screaming I was right about my actions.

Re-reading the past made me realize not only was I an idiot but at least I was the kind of idiot that knew when to admit a fault. Sure it took me a while, a couple of pages about my friend being a narcissistic bitch until guilt caught up with me.

My friend and I patched things up before Christmas.

However my other friend who back stabbed me, I decided to ignore it. I played along with the plasticity and smiled as if everything was alright. By the time our senior year rolled around we stopped talking that nothing was patched up and every issue was swept under the rug.

I wish I could say that drama of this kind is finally left in high school however it isn’t. I also wish I could say that rumors did not spread like wild fire due to the fact I thought I was smart and talented but I can’t.

So dear 16 year old me by the time college rolls around there would still be people who believe they are still in high school and brought the drama with them. You will be a victim, you will cry because you thought you left that stage but then it followed you. You will feel insignificant, a nothing and a worthless nothing. You will feel like you are a bad person that is why not everyone likes you. But let me tell you this, not everyone likes everyone. People will always have something to say and most of the time they will never say it to your face.

It’s just the world we live in but you will find people who love you for the reasons people talk about you. At some point you will feel like you’re not smart, but people will constantly remind you that you are. At some point you will think you’re not likable, but there will be some people who will say you are. At some point you will be quiet because you hate it when people say you’re too intense, there will be people to remind you that it’s part of your charm.

Then you’ll remind yourself time and time again, drama of this sort should only be in high school.