maybe you chose her because for a moment, she felt like everything you needed and she taught you how to breathe out of the dust-covered lungs. she was pretty and you liked having something pretty. she smelled like the flowers you bought for your mother’s funeral. she was like roses, she was everything you’ve seen before but you found little love hidden in the petals. she made you bleed like the spilled ink on your saffron paper. your words were marked with every memory of hers till it got too much and you realised, roses aren’t that pretty and sometimes their smell chokes you and when they hurt, they hurt a little too much. but everyone loves roses and you don’t know if you’ll find anything as beautiful as her ever again. and you can’t hurt her, though she’s slowly dying, and everyone will think of you as something that kills and killers are never really that loved but then you got a breath of fresh air, and you were confused by how warm you felt in just the presence of her. she made you feel alive and you realised how good it was to be out of the thorny arms of the dying roses. she made you happy, but you were so scared, you were scared to just touch her, you were scared with every touch she’ll disappear into thinner air. but she made you so happy, you couldn’t believe it. but it, too, was mixed with sulphur and acid. the dust in your lungs increased and the once fresh air wasn’t that fresh. you were choking, and you were looking for all the hearts you’ve broken. you checked your pockets and you found yourself in a closed calming cabin, walls surrounded by windows draped in fairy lights.
so the next time when you find your pockets to be wet with acid rain and full of cursive letters and rose leaves, know that, wherever you go, whenever you go, this place will always be yours. there will always be space, there will always be light. there will always be fairy lights.