it’s been a while.
and if you’re here… you’ve probably come from elsewhere.

i thought about privating & deleting all my entries.
but… what do i have to hide? my humanity? my soul? the bits and pieces of me the meat market never considers?

i won’t be writing on here anymore.
it’s a sad and sweet collection of a girl in her twenties trying to get it right and continuously missing the mark.

i’m glad that’s behind me now.
and if you’re wondering what changed it all…

it’s pretty simple.

i stopped giving a fuck.
i stopped caring about what everyone else wanted for me.

not yours,

a very sober & stable (finally) Slayhil

why do i still want to make it work

pick up the pieces, click erase

blur out the past, slow down the pace

you never were a rehabilitation center for me

but god damn, you did something to me

and now it’s floating off into space

love slowly dying as it dissipates

did you kiss me on the cheek often in a past life?

did you make me something close to a wife?

do you feel this too?

people tell me there’s more to life than romantic love, people tell me to move on, to leave you alone

and i do, but fuck, i still want you

it could still be true

i seem to shake the miss you blues

i prayed for you when you appeared

i swear i did

and just like that you put me in your fever dream and we left this world for our own

the extraterrestrial kind that scares even the most brave, but reveals the absolute magic this universe can bring

if we…

this is what was supposed to happen.

this is what was meant to be.

if i can it through this, i can make it through anything.

it’s morning, and it’s been a while since i’ve found myself with anything to say.
as the seasons change i find myself feeling more existential and lost by nightfall and pretty benign in the mornings.
i’ve fully settled into my routine in the mornings. i wake up around the same time. make…

it’s day sixteen. i can see myself making another stretch of sixteen. and then another, then another, then another.
i guess it’s not abstaining from alcohol that seems to be the thing here.
it’s more so… the way i seem to deal. or more rather, the way i can’t.
i don’t know if…

i don’t know what exactly i’m going through. some people say when you get to this point it’s only indicative of your false, previous reality falling away around you. like sand castles. the waves of reality finally get to cross your shores. and it’s not a destruction, it’s a realization…

i’m not bitter, no
and i know, i know, i know
it’s nothing special
you paint the same canvas over and over again
you don’t bother to change your palette
you don’t bother to switch your paints
and the strokes seem gentle,
only the subject knows how harshly you pressed on them
and only you know how you’ve stained my skin
it hurts, surely
but i’d rub myself raw all over again,
if it meant i’d rid myself of you
no color, no fever, no sin

it’s day nine.

Yves Olade, The Miracle Mile

i don’t have much to say lately. not to say that the lack of words is a negative. i mean, so much of communication needs no letters strung together to provide feeling.
i had a serious thought when i woke up today. about how these series of unfortunate…


the words & thoughts of a woman you found elsewhere.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store