not poetry.

When I was young, I did not know that life is a never ending cycle of carrying clothes on the sofa to the bed, and back. I did not know dirty bowls accumulate endlessly, and nights can stretch long and thin, too fragile for sleep to touch.

When I was young, all I wanted was to live in a chocolate house, eat snacks, and tell adults I have things to worry about too, like the imaginary boyfriend in Hong Kong who I was pretending to call often, and if friendships would last forever.