̶ ̶ xvi. I CAN'T BRING YOU HAPPINESS.

she found herself in her words. creating sentences that she hoped left the readers breathless. she poured her everything into each space, wishing to connect with someone other than just her own helpless soul. she only wrote of her sadness, her heartbreaks, still so young yet already could lose count on the amount of scars she had left on her forearms.

she searched for love in everything. the way the petals of her mothers garden danced with the morning whistle of the wind. how the sleepiness still surrounded her as she faced herself in the mirror after a long needed nap. how the clouds effortlessly moved during a storm that left flooded puddles full of their tears behind.

she hoped one day she would write about falling in love, forgetting how much her heart ached for a moment. she wishes for a time to find her where paragraphs upon paragraphs bleed the feeling of infatuation.

she hated writing only about her sadness,
but it's all she's ever felt.