Prose and poetry,  Relationships


Shooting stars falling from the sky
are dead stars. Lifeless
but renew hope in those who see them.

The clock on the wall shows 11:11
I close my eyes and make a wish.
My floor is littered with dandelion spores
and broken wishbones.
Countless flowers have
shed their petals – the timeless game of “he loves me”.
Fingers always crossed, deformed over time
I spent, wishing for you.

Ela is a twentysomething who is constantly getting stuck in self-destructive behavior and bouts of low self-esteem. She struggles with depression and writes to relieve herself of her feelings. Sometimes she even blogs about other things like makeup and positivity. One of her pieces was published in the Inquirer Young Blood in October 2017. She likes cats, dogs, and sometimes even people.

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