Sometimes when I am asleep, and the wind is coming in through the window of my childhood bedroom, I can almost feel you here. For a sleepover, the way we used to do all the time. It was just our clothes then, I didn’t know what was mine or yours. It was our day then, we never left each other’s sides. It was our life then, a pact that if we made it to 40 and were still single, we’d run away together and live on the beach in Mexico. I always wake up in a sweat from those dreams now. Now I live in your phone as an unknown cell number, I live in your photos as a girl you used to know. I live in that stain I left on the carpet of your truck when my bubblegum ice cream melted. Now I’m the most hated girl. For twenty-five years in a row. If you’ve never been the last choice friend, undiagnosed depression at a very young age, artsy but filled with melancholy girl, then you’ve never been the most hated girl. But I’ve worn her skin all my life. At first it was the separate group chat with 9 memb...
Like a botched haircut, or a bad day, you gotta let that shit GO. Hi, Haleigh here (guess who’s back, back again) I kinda waited to write this because it felt like there was never the right time. Well, it’s still not the right time, but uhh, I do what I want now so here goes nothing. I feel like one of the hardest things for me to do in life is let go of stuff. Physical things, like my old favourite shirt that for sure doesn’t fit anymore, or that book I’ll probably never read again, right down to all the yucky sad feelings I can’t seem to get rid of. I mean sure, you should let yourself feel, like process your emotions and gather your thoughts blah blah blah. But there comes a point where it’s like - why am I holding onto this?!?? It’s HEAVY. There’s a saying I love, written by an author I look up to. Three words: so it goes . I love it so much that I got it tattooed on my body (sorry mom I love you). It’s a simple reminder that this is life. And stuff happens. People are mean...