Pinky Promise

How funny it is that we make promises with the weakest finger…almost as if we know they’re doomed to break.




Loving him in colors

Loving you is orange, like the spark of a flame that lights up my heart when you walk into a room, like the sun setting on yet another beautiful day spent with you. Your personality is yellow, bright and vibrant, like the twinkle resting in your hazel eyes every time I look at you reminding me life won’t always be blue. Because when I am submerging myself into a murky navy darkness, you are the light to guide me through it, and when the ocean waves of sadness crash on my shores, you never let me feel lonely. And together on a quiet Friday night we will be grey, content, like the resting fog and swirling clouds above us, a quiet white noise rainfall to lull us to sleep. I dream in green, of your tinted eyes and long rolling hills I wish to escape to, and I will wake up in pink, like the blushing of your embarrassed cheeks, like the light breeze of lust through the air, and the beautiful sunrise of a new day. I think of you in black, like constellations forming in my head because the way I feel about you is “totally out of this world” 😉 I think of you as a bright star crossing the night sky, galaxies will form at the sound of your sweet laughter. And when my crimson heart falls short of expressing how much you mean to me, I will write in transparency, making my feelings as clear as they can be, and in the end you are not one single color. You are the explosion of a firework, and you make everyone around you stop and marvel at how truly amazing you are.

(Dedicated to my amazing fiancé)



I was always taught that lies were terrible, “The truth will set you free” was a famous quote my mother loved to recite. Yet honesty has never felt like freedom to me, it is a birdcage holding me captive, the truth has become a sword through my spine. It’s painful. I lie to others and myself because it is what’s best for me. If I pretend that I’m confident, then maybe I’ll be able to look at myself in the mirror again, and stop having to wash my makeup and tear stained pillow cases. If I pretend to be happy, then maybe I might be someday. If I tell myself I don’t love you anymore, then maybe one day I really won’t. I’m sorry mother, but lying has become my liberation.