where death doesn't exist

where death doesn’t exist where death doesn’t existemma de angelisemma de angelisa collection of prose & poetrya collection of prose & poetry

3where death doesn’t exist where death doesn’t existemma de angelisemma de angelisa collection of prose & poetrya collection of prose & poetry

Verse VandalVerse Vandaltag your territory in this playground:tag your territory in this playground:

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for laufey, this is my silly dream for laufey, this is my silly dream

to the ones i lost, you taught me how to hold on to things that never stayed. to the versions of me that didn’t survive, i wrote this so you’d still have a place here. and to anyone reading this now, thank you for stepping into the pages with me. i hope you find something worth keeping. acknowledgements

playlist 1. don’t smile - sabrina carpenter 2. backburner - niki 3. linger - the cranberries 4. no one noticed - the marias 5. the smallest man who ever lived - taylor swift 6. when love and hate collide - def leppard 7. heavy (feat kiiara) - linkin park 8. i bet on losing dogs - mitski 9. promise - laufey 10. the night we met - lord huron ft. phoebe bridgers 11. the subway - chappell roan 12. lacy - olivia rodrigo 13. the archer - taylor swift 14. i always wanna die (sometimes) - the 1975 15. dancing with your ghost - sasha alex sloan 16. i love you, i’m sorry - gracie abrams 17. scott street - phoebe bridgers 18. too little, too late - laufey 19. iris - the goo goo dolls 20. i’ll be - edwin mccain 21. letter to my 13 year old self - laufey . . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

before you begin there’s no table of contents here. not because i forgot— but because healing isn’t linear. and so is this. i don’t want you to read this like a map. this isn’t a book. it’s a room i built from fragments—of feelings, of silence, of nights that almost swallowed me whole. you’ll find poems i never meant to write, and prose i never meant to share. some pages feel like living. others feel like ghosts. there’s no map. no structure. just pieces of a world where death doesn’t exist—only memory, and the quiet things that refused to leave. if you’re holding this, maybe something in you wanted to stay, too. i’m glad you did.

my alarm rang at 7:45 a.m. on a sunday. i opened my eyes and turned it off. it’s errands day—the day i spend running around, yet somehow longing more than i already do everyday. i arrived at the supermarket around 8:20 a.m. the place was already buzzing with people. mothers comparing prices, some were arguing softly over what to buy, and workers restocking shelves. and when i reached the fruit station, i remembered you— you always smelled like strawberries. not the artificial kind. the real ones, the ones that stain your fingers red when you cut them too slow. i got home holding a box of strawberries. they weren’t as sweet as the ones you used to pick out, but i sliced them anyway, the way you taught me— thin, careful, like something fragile. the knife slipped once, and for a second i swore i saw your hand reaching to help. something about strawberries 15

i never liked this fruit—not because it reminded me of you, but because its taste lingered long after i’d swallowed it. it clung to my tongue the way your words used to, sweet at first, then heavy, bitter even, when i realized they were never meant for me. and yet, every time i see it, i still reach out, half- expecting it to taste different this time. i keep the last strawberry untouched. it’s already starting to fade. but i can’t throw it away. not yet. 16

on the back of my hand, there is still a residue of what i used to do. it crushes me whenever i remember how i can keep the fire in my heart burning back then. 18 each time i close my eyes, the ideas go at the same time i blink. it's like it comes naturally. and of course, the plot twist comes— and it inevitably stings. why am i being haunted by what i wanted?

she had a bucket list—places to go, things to try, even plans for dates that hadn’t happened yet, just in case someone came along. but what stayed with me the most—there was no deadline. no “by this age,” no pressure. just—as long as she’s here, she’ll live. she liked going out, even if she was scared to talk to people. she would say she was afraid, and still go anyway. and somehow, that made her braver than anyone. she had this… aura. not soft. not warm. but people trusted her. they told her things. heavy things. and she understood. she always understood. and she always had something to say—like she built a factory of words inside her, endless, always ready, always enough for everyone else. then she wasn’t 19 i once met a girl who was full of life. the kind of person who got excited about everything.

i used to think—does she ever keep some for herself? she was doing so well. she was living. actually living. and then, i don’t know. something shifted. or maybe it just stopped. the lists are still there. unfinished. untouched. the plans? they don’t feel real anymore. and the girl who was so full of life, she’s quiet now. ost, in a way i can’t explain. i stared at her for a long time. and then it hit me— “i know exactly what happened to her,” i said to myself as i looked in the mirror. 20

i would start by breaking a bottle over her head because it’s at the very top of my bucket list. one, two, three— i would strike her so hard that her skull would shatter, scattering her thoughts everywhere. next, i would press my thumbs into her eyes until they bleed, blinding her so she can no longer see the goodness in the people who broke her. soon after, i would stitch her lips shut so she can no longer comfort others with the words she has wanted to hear for so long. at the same time, i would chop off her ears, so the lies flying around her will never reach her. then, i would cut off her hands— no, her entire arms—so she won’t be able to cling to the very things that are letting her go. i am not a violent person by nature 22 i am not a violent person by nature, but i have a list of what i would do to her.

after that, i would sever her feet so she could never run back to what caused her pain. finally, i would watch her suffer until her last breath, but if people could only see what is in my heart, they would know i am not a violent person by nature — because i simply cannot do it to myself. 23

serendipity avenue as the bell chimed, a flood of sorrowful memories surged through my body all at once. i felt overwhelmed and terrified, to the point where i forgot how to process them without falling apart. these memories persisted far longer than i expected. i became familiar with living in pain, afraid to experience happiness. but you appear, a burst of sunshine, filling my world with vibrant colors. laufey, could this be the path to serendipity? 25

26 There are five love languages, or as some would say, the well-known ways we express and receive love: Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Gift- Giving, Quality Time, and Physical Touch. It honestly scares me to think that I might never find someone who embodies all of them in one person. Yet, I refuse to lower my standards just to experience some of them. But let me share something I hope isn't too late to impart: Words hold immense power. Don't just settle for someone because they excel in three love languages. Ensure that Words of Affirmation are also part of the equation. Pay attention to how they choose their words when they speak to you. Seek someone who has a soft spot for you because words have a profound impact. You might forget the last time they hugged you or gave you a gift, but the words they say will linger longer than you could ever imagine.for her, always

Even the brightest star won't suffice— because you both have a lot in common. That's why I sacrificed. I knew I had to set you free when I saw how things worked the way you want to. I'm not mad. I just had to let you go. Our love will be permanently tattooed in my heart— For it has to die before it blooms. 27 sirius

the days you feel unlovable are the days i’ll love you harder. 28

yet somehow, people still get confused. they see femininity and assume straightness, as if loving women must come with a certain look. as if being a woman who loves women means i have to dress differently, act differently, or become someone else. but i'm not straight. and just because i like women, it doesn't mean i want to be a man. my love for women has nothing to do with wanting to be one less, or wanting to be something else entirely. i am a woman who loves women. i exist. we exist. sometimes i wear clothes that aren't traditionally feminine. sometimes i reach for oversized shirts, loose pants, or styles that people might label as masculine. and somehow, people get confused again. they see a woman who loves women and assume she must want to be a man. it doesn't work that way. and yes, i get gay panic. a woman compliments me and suddenly i forget how to speak. a simple smile can stay in my mind for days. a casual conversation becomes a memory i replay over and over. 30 i exist. we exist. i like soft things. pretty things. i like wearing dresses, ribbons, skirts, makeup —whatever makes me feel like myself. i like looking feminine. i like being seen as feminine. and i love women.

because i love women. not in theory. not as a label. in reality. in all the small, overwhelming, beautiful ways that love appears. i exist. we exist. and yes, i can appreciate men's facial features. i can recognize when a man is handsome. i can admire beauty when i see it. but appreciation is not an attraction— recognition is not a desire, a beautiful face is a beautiful face. it does not automatically mean i'm straight. just as loving feminine clothes does not make me straight. just as loving women does not make me a man. i exist. we exist. there is no contradiction here. a woman can love women without wanting to be a man. and i do. i am not trying to become someone else. i am not confused. i am not a contradiction. i am a woman who loves women. i exist. we exist. and that should be enough. 31

32 i’m nowhere near the ocean, yet fighting for your attention drags me down like deep waters. emma de angelis

33 “The number you're trying to reach is currently unavailable, please try again later." Those were the last words I've heard when I attempted to call you— we're over and it sinks into me just now, but I'm still not over you. I still put two plates on the table every time I prepare breakfast, just in case you decided to come back. Your scent clung throughout in my bed, particularly in my clothes. I hate to admit it, but I continually write letters to you in secret— and some of them were about how my day went. So, even if we're not together, you will be updated. By the way, I often play the cassette tape you gave whenever I miss you calling out my name— As of now, I seldom use my phone because if that's on my hands— I won't think twice to call you again. Don't worry, I'm trying my best not to bother you anymore. I was on the verge of my tears when I saw our old photo. I can't help but cry because I distinguished the note you compose at the back of that photo, “Happy Anniversary, love! 7pm at our favorite restaurant. See you!” I waited for you until 8 pm. You didn't show up. I tried to call you many times— “The number you're trying to reach is currently unavailable, please try again later.” Amaranthine

34 show me the quiet parts of you. the ones you don’t dress up for anyone. i want to know the tone of your voice sounds when you’re tired and not trying to be strong, or how the way your heart hold onto things you swear you’ve already let go of. i want to learn by heart how the footsteps of sadness clomp when it keep showing up on your door— not to guard you but so i could meet it gently every time it finds you i want to know what ruins your day. who made you roll your eyes thrice — or why your blood rise. not so i can fix it, but so i can sit beside it with you and not flinch. i want to memorize the shape of your silence. when it louds in ways you won’t admit. when it’s heavy. when it’s peaceful. when it’s the only thing keeping you from breaking. i want to know what you avoid thinking about right before you fall asleep. what your hands reach for in the dark when no one’s there to hold them. show me the version you think ruins everything

35 i want to know the version of you that you think is “too much.” too emotional. too distant. too complicated. give me that one because i don’t want the version of you that knows how to be loved. i want the one that doesn’t believe it’s possible. and if you ask me why— it’s not because i think i can save you. i don’t want that. i don’t want to be your answer. i don’t want to be the reason you finally feel okay. i just want to be there when you aren’t. when you badly want to, but you can’t i want to be the person who doesn’t leave when you go quiet, when you go cold, and when you forget how to let someone in. i want to stay through the unfinished sentences, the almost-confessions, the moments you pull back right when it starts to matter. not because it’s easy. but because you are worth staying for even in the parts you don’t show anyone. especially those.

36 do you think love ever truly leaves, or does it just wait quietly in familiar places? the ride from this train felt different now. as i sat across from him, holding the flowers he gave me— soft pink roses, bright yellow daisies, and a few small purple asters tucked between the greenery. “thank you,” i mouthed as he looked at me. it was okay. i was fine with it. not until he looked at me too deeply that i remembered the way she looked at me that night— like i was her whole world. they said opposites attract, and well, she was literally the opposite of me. she was sunlight spilling through half-open curtains. laughter too loud for quiet rooms, paint stains on fingertips, gold jewelry catching every bit of light. she talked with her hands. danced when she was happy, stopped to pet every stray cat she saw. when i was careful, she was fearless. what never leaves just changes shape

37 where i stayed silent, she filled the air with life. she carried color everywhere she went like the world had personally asked her to brighten it. and somehow, she did the same to mine. we were standing in front of the spoliarium. the room was dim, heavy with gold and shadows, and she kept trying to explain the painting to me. how grief could look so grand and devastating at the same time. but every few seconds, her eyes would drift back to me instead. then she handed me my favorite flowers— bright gerberas in shades of orange, pink, yellow, and red, with fresh white and soft pink lilies blooming between them. they looked alive in her hands, colorful and warm against the dark museum walls. i stared at them for too long until my vision blurred a little and a tear slipped down before i could stop it. because that was when i realized— she listened. she remembered the small things i said in passing. the kinds of flowers i liked. how i loved bouquets that looked lively and full of color. and maybe that was the problem.

38 love never really leaves. it just learns how to hide in ordinary things— train rides, museum halls, flower shops, songs playing too softly in cafés, the exact shade of red she used to wear. i didn’t realize i still carried her with me until i caught myself wishing i was looking into her eyes instead of his. and suddenly, the flowers in my hands didn’t feel new anymore. just familiar. like loving her had stained every beautiful thing afterward.

one of these days, i will admit to myself that i assuredly did not cut you off out of my life. i absolutely set you aside from reality because you were my fantasy. my happily ever after. once upon a time 39

40My current grocery list since you left (I'm lactose intolerant): • Loaf bread for mama • Apples for my sister • Meatloaf for my sister • Coca-cola for papa • Bacon and ham for my brothers • Peanut Butter • Koko Krunch • The Original Hotcake Mix • Lays • Cookies and cream ice cream for you for me

41 No grave can hold my body down. Not with the weight of her name pressing against my ribs. The soil clawed at my skin as I dragged myself through it. Every inch was a fight to reach her, defying the reaper’s touch that wanted to pull me into the Netherworld. My breath came in jagged gasps— lungs burning with air they were never meant to take again, but I couldn’t stop. Not while she was still waiting. Not while her memory called me home.

but between the two of us, we both knew that you weren't ready for a life where i wasn't part of it anymore. 42

There's a dead spider inside the kitchen cabinet next to the peanut butter and strawberry jam. I have arachnophobia, but here's why I leave it there. One morning, I woke up and went to the kitchen to make my usual breakfast: peanut butter and strawberry jam. As I was eating, I saw something moving in my peripheral vision. It was a spider. When I turned around, it went inside the kitchen cabinet. I wanted to get my insect killer spray, but I was frozen with fear and couldn't move. All I could do was close the cabinet door. For two months, I didn't eat my usual breakfast because I was afraid the spider might jump on me. But I missed my routine. One day, I took a deep breath and opened the cabinet door. To my shock, the spider was lifeless. I didn't remove it. I left it there as a reminder that there was a moment in my life when I faced my fears. 43Peanut Butter & Strawberry Jam

44 I Would Peel Fruit for You What “peeling oranges” moments exist in your life, where care is shown quietly but deeply? Because for me, I don’t believe love is proven in the moments people see. I think it shows itself when there’s nothing to perform. When you’re exhausted. When your patience is thin. When staying is heavier than leaving. Real love pays attention. It memorizes the way you struggle without asking for help— the habits you built just to survive being alone. It’s choosing tenderness when it would be easier to be indifferent. Choosing care when no one would blame you for not trying. And that’s why this one line hit me harder than it should have: “I would peel oranges for you.” Because I would do it. I would do it for you so your hands won’t get sticky, or so your nails won’t smell like citrus for hours, even after washing them.

45 But in all honesty, I would peel fruit for you— not just oranges, but anything that asks for patience. I would strip away rinds, skins, the parts that stain my hands so you could have sweetness without struggle. Citrus. Mango. Pomegranate— things that bite back, things that take time. And I think that’s how I know it’s love. Because I don’t mind the mess, and I don’t rush the work, as long as you get the soft part in the end.

46 Polaris Whenever it feels like I’m caught between heaven and earth, you make me see things a little clearer. It’s like you’re holding a flashlight— guiding me where to go. Pero ang totoo n’yan, takot akong magawi sa lugar na hindi ko kabisado— na baka ‘pag lumingon ako kahit saang dako, wala ni isa dito ay pamilyar sa mga mata ko. I’m terrible at directions. I can’t even give you the right answer if you ask me about the city I live in. I have no idea how far this place is from anywhere. I don’t know whether to turn right or left— I end up staying in one place for far too long. Sa madaling salita, takot akong maligaw. But oh God, meeting you made me want to see what’s beyond my homeland. I wish you knew that you turned the world into a crossroads. And I’m no longer afraid of getting lost. Dahil lahat ng daan ko ay patungo ay pabalik sa’yo.

47 When I think of you, I think of the sunset I know it often carries a negative connotation with others seeing it as a sign of leaving, but for me, I see it differently. Banayad, tahimik, at payapa. It’s a moment when the world pauses to admire its beauty. Kaya para sa ‘kin, hindi lang talaga dapat ayon ang kahulugan no’n It doesn’t need to stop or demand attention to be noticed. Ikaw ang mismo ang hihinto para rito. And that’s why when I think of you, I think of the sunset. Banayad, tahimik, at malaya

48 When my love wanders I hope my love wanders to the street you avoided passing by. I hope it goes through the mirror every time you look at your reflection. I hope it lingers in your brain whenever it tells you that you are not enough— but when my love wonders, I hope it rests everywhere near your bones.

even if we didn't end up together, i’m always here. somewhere. i am the shooting star you've missed because you look down for a while. i am the person you bumped into hallways, but you didn't have the chance to see me because you're glimpsing in another way. i am your former favorite song that you stopped giving attention to because you have a new favorite one. i am the guitar you often hug whenever you sing. i am that handwritten letter you tried to keep because you asserted that it has a sentimental value. i am the alcoholic beverage you drank when you are celebrating something. i am the special place you run from when everything's falling apart, yet you abandoned me. if ever you're going to ask me, where am i, please, always remember, i am everywhere. i am everwhere 50

i always bring her flowers, but she doesn't know they're from me. when she’s sad, two daffodils rest beside an iced spanish latte on her desk. their yellow faces tilt toward the light, soft and gentle—as if the day itself is leaning in to comfort her. when she’s lost in thought, four tulips slip into the corner of her bag. their stems bend softly, patient and steady, reaching out through the quiet. a secret garden 51 when restlessness tugs at her, tiny violets appear beside her notebook. little purple stars, delicate and unexpected, offering a pause—so her racing thoughts might soften, just for a while. when anxiety presses at her chest, two sour patch candies lie near a single white lily. when she seems tired, a few pink carnations wait beside her tea. sometimes, when everything feels sharp or too heavy, a sprig of lavender rests in her bag. i always bring her flowers— three gerberas for the words i can't say out loud.

she’s the kind of beautiful that doesn’t begged to be seen, her laughter softens even the most cruel day, her touch can quiet the storm i didn’t even know were raging. she spoke me gently, but she had a way of rebuilding me, piece by trembling piece until i could almost believe in light again. but oh god, how could i not— when i heard her reciting my name like it’s a psalm. like i was worth forgiving, and i think even the angels would agree. and when she smiled, it felt like the sun was kneeling, as if even creation itself wanted to be close to her warmth. even god looks for her in my eyes they say love is mortal, but hers felt like something heaven would take notes on. 52

there were moments where i ‘d catch her staring out at the sky, and i would wonder if she knew she was made of the same things— the quiet, the wonder, the infinite ache of wanting to be known. i could still recall the way she held me, not as if i were fragile, but as if i were something sacred, something god might envy for by being loved by her, and in those moments, i realized faith doesn’t always wear a cross; for sometimes, it has brown eyes, soft hands, and a voice feels like home. even god looks for her in my eyes because when i remember her, the whole sky listens. 53

54your name rests on my tongue like a prayer How do you lift someone in your prayer when they walk through the world unaware that they’re the reason your heart speaks quietly to God? When their name never leaves your lips, though you never say it aloud — only whisper it into the silence between the stars, into the pauses before sleep into the ache of hope that maybe, somehow, love can reach them without ever being seen. emma de angelis

if they ask what you were to me, tell them this: 55 you were the pause between every breath i took, the space where prayer became language again. i have loved you not as the world allows, but as the stars do— quietly, endlessly, without witness.

56 The way I care about everyone makes me wish I had someone like me in my life. Growing up, I never had a hard time making friends. I might not be the first to reach out, but if someone spoke to me kindly, we’d become friends immediately. It was that easy to connect with me. It didn’t matter what your skin color, gender preferences, life status, or religion were—as long as you stayed true. That’s why at 13, I assumed it wouldn’t be tough to have a large circle of friends. I often ended up being the one who planned our hangouts —when, where, what time, and even what we were going to eat. It was nice to sit together and talk about our crushes, dreams, and even family problems. Listening to other people’s stories made me realize how blessed I was with what I had. And when you’re empathetic, you tend to extend your hand every time. No matter what you’re doing, what time it is, or how much you have on your plate, you listen and help — because that’s what your heart tells you to do. "Please tell me I'm not as forgettable as your silence is making me feel." — M.S.

57 I thought being there for them was enough to show how much I cared, but unfortunately, it wasn’t. So, I tried to find other ways to make them feel less alone. I gave them handwritten letters, and yes, it helped. Words are powerful they heal wounds you never knew needed mending. But when I needed support, I couldn’t find the words. It was like they disappeared from my notebook the moment I cried out for them. No one was there to remind me, “You’re strong; I know you can do this.” My 13-year-old self would probably pity me. I wonder what it feels like to be someone’s first choice, or even just included as an option — because in my case, I’m not even a consideration.

Honestly, it never even crossed my mind—not even once—because I thought being overly available would make me lovable. I even assumed that if I changed myself just a little to fit what they liked, it would make them want to keep me. When you do too much for people they start loving your hand and not your heart If the roles were reversed, would they do the same for me? Is it just me, or do you also feel that spark the thrill— when they message you out of nowhere? It’s nice to feel wanted, even though I know all too well that I was their last resort. That’s what it’s like for people like me who crave affection. We’ll gladly absorb the burst even though we know it will burn us in the end just to feel that fleeting jolt of connection. But I was wrong though, it didn’t matter how many times I was there for them when, deep down, I was never the one they truly wanted. I can be mean to some, kind to others, but for you, I’ll always try to be the person you want me to be. Now I wonder, is it because I care so much for you, or is it because I don’t love myself enough. 58

even the brightest star won't suffice— because you both have a lot in common. that's why i sacrificed. i knew i had to set you free when i saw how things worked the way you want to. i'm not mad. i just had to let you go. our love will be permanently tattooed in my heart— for it has to die before it blooms. sirius 59

a litany for the damned and in love If loving her is a sin, then I’ll walk into hell with a turnout coat on my shoulders, unafraid. And if the fire rises to swallow me whole, I pray it spares a corner of mercy— a place for the stubborn hearts who did nothing more than love. For the women who loved women in silence. For the ones who pressed their longing into letters never sent. For the souls whose only crime was believing that to love was not a sin at all. I would burn, gladly, if it meant she knew I loved her. 60

i once read there's a vein from the ring finger that runs straight to the heart. no detours. no hesitation. a fragile, invisible thread beneath the skin. it's called vena amoris—which is the latin for "vein of love." and maybe that’s you. not loud. not obvious. but constant—quietly important. you didn’t come crashing in like cardiac arrest. you moved in like breath— steady as resting heart rate, soft as diastole. vena amoris some people fill time. but you? you filled the space between my ribs. like your piece was meant to fit mine in this lifetime. and when i forgot how to feel whole, you became my stent, keeping the flow steady when everything inside me tried to collapse. if there really is a vein of love, then maybe you’re more than that. maybe you’re the entire circulation— from me to you, and back again. a closed loop of quiet devotion, beating beneath everything i say. 61

daniel saint was right when he said, “you cannot make everyone think and feel as deeply as you do. this is your tragedy, because you understand them but they do not understand you,” and that hurt me because i wrote until my fingers were bleeding, trying to understand the meaning between the lines of everything— only to find out they don't mean anything, or should i say, less than nothing. i kept realigning the stars so you wouldn't get confused about where to follow. i even stitched it with the brightest constellation you could borrow. but despite all this, in the grand scheme of things, i'm still just stardust in the vast galaxy. 62

pwede kaya ‘yon? maaari bang kayanin ko ang lahat ng pagsubok na ibabato sa ‘kin, basta’t nandiyan ka? honestly, i’m scared to depend on someone— to open up about what i’m going through. i’m scared to let anyone worry about me. pero hindi naman dapat palaging ganito, ‘di ba? na kahit papaano, subukan ko pa ring magtiwala—maniwala. i’ve seen too many times how unfair life can be. the world doesn’t stop just because you’re tired. it doesn’t wait for anyone to catch their breath. kaya sabi ko, sana may humawak ng kamay ko habang lumalaban ako. kasi nakakatakot pala kapag wala kang kasama. and then, the universe gave me you. the world kept crashing over. wave after wave, and still— you never let go. you didn’t try to fix the storm, but you stayed through it. and somehow, that meant more than calm ever could. wala kang kailangang sabihin. ni hindi mo ‘ko kailangang iligtas. dahil sapat nang nandiyan ka. maybe home was never about peace. maybe it was your hand through the chaos. maybe it was always you—my anchor, my storm. 63 my anchor, my storm can chaos still feel like home if someone’s holding your hand?

64 Where stars sleep Though it may seem strange, I'm not a fan of stars. They are indeed captivating seeing how they shine in the darkness, but I still don't find them interesting— not until I saw how your eyes look like a supernova remnant every time you laugh. That's when my attention diverts to it because whenever I look at your eyes, it feels like I know where stars sleep.

65 Au Revoir I used to hate cutting my hair short because it feels like I'm ready to forget everything, that I'm ready to forget your bright smile that actually touched something deep inside me, those eyes that I could stare at for the rest of my life, I've never seen such dark eyes that shines so bright. How can I forget your laugh when It's my favorite soundtrack? You made me feel at home, only to kick me out. So I cut my hair short and it's the greatest thing I've done. It feels like I'm being released by the things that keeps on holding me back. Darling, if you ever ask me if I'm ready to forget everything then my answer is yes I'm ready to move on.

66 Blank Verse How many times do I have to tell you that you're not under someone's spell by being unlucky with some things? It didn't go on in your favor because it wasn't meant for you. There are a lot of things— thousands of chances written under the stars. I won't be luckless for loving you— Because if loving you is a curse, I'm prepared to be a blank verse.

67E M M A D E A N G E L I STHIS SPACE FOR WRITING MESSAGES.WESTVIEW, CORNELIA ST. MADE IN WONDERLANDPOST CARDTHIS SPACE FOR ADDRESS ONLY.PLACE STAMP HERE

68i used to think prayer was for the desperate. now i understand it’s for the devoted. because i whisper her name when no one’s listening. because i’ve built a quiet cathedral in my chest, and she’s the only thing i worship inside it. emma de angelis

69 She calls herself forgettable, a shadow passing through, but she’s the kind of light you carry with you long after it’s gone. They say the sun shines brightest before the rain, and I wonder if that’s why the skies grieve when she’s not here. She doesn’t realize it—how her presence holds the world together, how her laughter chases away the gray. She moves through life like she’s invisible, but every step she takes leaves a mark, every word she speaks lingers like warmth on my skin. How do you tell someone who feels unlovable that they’re the very reason the earth blooms? How do you show someone they are the light when all they see are shadows?

Long before I understood what comfort truly meant, I didn’t always know how to name the things that made me feel safe. Back then, it was just a presence, quiet, constant— like light seeping through curtains I never thought to draw open. I moved through life unaware of the quiet kindness stitched between ordinary days. I thought faith would never lean in my favor. And that maybe this was all there was — just this monotony of guarded days and restless nights. I settled into the stillness, bracing myself for a life that didn’t ask for much, but never gave much either. Not all at once. Not in any dramatic, cinematic way. It was gradual — soft. The kind of change that happens so slowly you don’t notice until one day you realize the ache in your chest isn’t as sharp. The kind of healing that comes in whispers, in the way your name sounds gentler when spoken by someone who means it. In the way you no longer flinch when someone reaches out to hold you. 70 Before I Knew Gratitude Had a Name Was it always you, behind the warmth I didn’t know I needed?

71 But over time, I began to notice the small mercies: the gentle pauses, the spaces where I could breathe without holding back, the way my laughter didn’t sound foreign anymore. I learned to soften the edges I once kept sharp — edges I had carved to protect myself, to shield a heart that only knew how to survive, not to rest. Slowly, I let those defenses loosen, not because I no longer feared the world, but because something — someone — taught me it was okay to feel safe. Before I knew gratitude had a name, there was simply you. You, who stayed when I was all silence and sharp edges. You, who never asked for anything back, yet gave more than I realized. In the spaces where the world felt too loud or too empty, your presence filled in the blanks. Can I just say thank you—for being that name all along?

72 I'm still figuring out how to be anywhere without those memories of you popping up unexpectedly. But as you can tell, I've had a tough time with this. I end up writing down these thoughts in a lot of detail. Did you know that in Japanese folklore, there's a belief that your wish can be granted if you fold 1,000 origami paper cranes? And apparently, I'm on my last paper crane, but I have doubts about whether it can bring someone back. So, I tried to shift my attention to the stars instead. I stayed awake every night, waiting for a wishing star, hoping it could grant my wish. Sadly, not a single star is visible to the naked eye every time I gaze at the night sky. Then, I thought a dandelion could fulfill my wishes, but when I blew on it, the seeds landed on my clothes instead of floating in the wind. As of now, it's difficult for me to keep track of how many times I’ve waited for 11:11 just so I could make a wish to see you one more time. But maybe, just maybe, not having fulfilled my wishes is the universe's way of telling me to stop yearning for the things that weren't meant to be written on my timeline. Perhaps one day, I'll eventually find my way to a better place, but in that moment, there won't be a trace of you anywhere. My Last Wishes

73 When the World Ends Twice Is it possible to find light in a world that once left you in the dark? Every time I have a bad day, all I want to do is lie in bed and cry it all out. But whenever I start crying, it’s never just about that day—it’s about my dreams, my life, the betrayals I’ve endured, and how my world fell apart when I was 13. Back when I was just trying to connect with my peers. I know I wasn’t always kind, but I wasn’t evil either. Yet life has a funny way of showing me that everyone is against me, that anyone could drop me at any time. For years, I pretended to be tough, detaching myself the moment something felt off. I started using my heart less—not heartless, just more focused on what I could control. That was my plan, and it worked… until I became comfortable again. “It’s fine. It’s different this time,” I whisper to myself, forcing myself to hold on. Convincing myself that not everyone will turn their back on me.

74 And then, it happened again. My world fell apart, ten years later. But this time, I wasn’t using my heart less. I had grown so familiar with the pain they caused that I kept trying to fix things I didn’t break. Funny how I once swore I would use my heart less, yet it almost—almost— ruined my faith in everything. I was so close to becoming someone I promised I’d never be. But then you came along. And now, you’re making me believe in something again. “A shared joy is double joy, but a shared sorrow is half a sorrow.” All my life, I thought I was cursed. But now, I’m starting to wonder if I performed a miracle in a past life—because having you here feels like God has sent me the greatest gift in the universe.

after all i've been through, i still don't know how to move forward without wanting to come back to you— because every step i take, it pushes me back twice to where i started. emma de angelis 75

still laughing at the jokes, they tossed at me even though it humiliated me in so many ways— why would someone make a joke about something i've been always struggling to hide? those battle scars, acne, pimples, and blackheads that i hide using concealers are something that doesn't define what i am as a person. it hurts me a lot that someone could have the courage to profile an individual about their flaws or what others said was a flaw. they didn't even hear a thing coming from me, but behind closed doors, i am hurting myself to forgive everyone who has hurt me. forgiven, but never forgotten 76

i’ve learned that sometimes, the kindest thing we can offer is to simply stay without questions. without rushing. just being there. i built this space within me, not with walls, but with warmth—in case you ever needed somewhere to be soft again. if i see you fully, will you let yourself rest? there is a garden in my heart where you can sleep safely 77 is safety a place, or a person who sees all of you and stays?

if loving her is a sin, then i’ll walk into hell with a turnout coat on my shoulders, unafraid. and if the fire rises to swallow me whole, i pray it spares a corner of mercy— a place for the stubborn hearts who did nothing more than love. for the women who loved women in silence. for the ones who pressed their longing into letters never sent. for the souls whose only crime was believing that to love was not a sin at all. if loving you is a sin, then carve my name in fire. a gentle sin 78 why are we told to repent for loving gently?

79 “I’m a garden where the fruit is free, but admission will cost you your life.”—Poster Journal Have you ever welcomed someone with open arms, only to realize the cost too late? I was never one to turn people away. If someone reached for my kindness, I let them take as much as they wanted. But without my knowledge, some people don’t just take—they strip you bare, leaving nothing but roots and regrets. I wasn’t always "evil," as others would describe me. I know I wasn’t because I gave my time, my trust, and my heart—never realizing that some people only stay as long as there’s something left to take. I never knew how to let go of things that were obviously detrimental to me. For some reason, I always gave people the benefit of the doubt. Even when I sensed the slightest hint that they were slipping away, I would pull them closer—like they were oxygen I couldn’t live without. It became addicting, unfortunately.

80 When I started seeing the same patterns in others, I would analyze their every move as if we were playing a game. I never knew how to let go. Instead, I convinced myself they didn’t mean to hurt me. This is what I don’t like about myself—if I love you, you don’t have to manipulate me. I’ll do it myself. Strike 1 — The First Cut Was the Deepest “People who actually love you would never do what you did” I never thought the person who knew me best would be the one to hurt me the most. It’s funny how you can spend so many years trusting someone believing they have your back — only to realize that when it truly matters, they’re the ones who let you down. You always hear that “those who love you would never hurt you,” but here I am, questioning everything I thought I knew about friendship. The first cut was the deepest — and it came from someone I never expected. Strike 2—A Glass She Dropped “She held me carelessly, and when I shattered, she didn’t bother to pick up the pieces” After learning my lesson with previous friends, I’ve kept my circle small — so small that I’d know exactly who shared my business if it ever got out. I’m someone who always tries to put myself in other people’s shoes before I say or do something. But if I still don’t understand, I’ll find a way to make sense of it. What I can’t understand, though, is how you seem so unbothered after seeing me hurt. How could you watch me bleed without flinching? Have you gotten so used to seeing me like this that you didn’t even bother to check if I’m okay?

81 Strike 3 — A Caged Bird Never Flies “She acted like I was a certainty, never fearing I’d leave—so she never tried to keep me.” There are moments when you take a step back and contemplate things, and you realize how little someone values your presence until it’s too late. She was always sure that I wouldn’t leave because I was afraid of change. So, she wore that confidence like armor, never once questioning if I might slip away — because in her mind, I was a certainty. And because of that, she never put in the effort to keep me. I never liked keeping track, whether of what I gave or what they took— but here I am, tallying my last straw. I’m a garden where the fruit is free, but admission will cost you your life because the path is guarded by roots that never forget.

i wrote the ending years ago, but after seeing her, it feels like she’s rewriting the entire narrative. 82

83 I’m listening to your playlist right now as I write this at 11:04 pm because my mind won’t let me sleep until I put these all down to my notes. Looking at the group photo you sent (from the birthday party you attended) made me wish I had met you sooner—because lately, I often wonder what it was like to know you before you built your walls so high that even those around you can’t get in. Will I be one of your friends if we ever met during that time? I wonder how you were before you had trust issues, before they broke your heart over and over and left you with unfulfilled promises. Will I be included in those people whom you trust? I wonder what it felt like to be treasured by you when you still believed in friendships, but don’t get me wrong, okay? I feel loved and valued by who you are right now. It’s just… I’m curious. “People can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.” —Matt Kahn That’s what I stuck in my head as you cried over someone who hurt you a long time ago.

84 Which version of you did they kill? Which version of you did I never get to meet? Because when I look at your recent photos, I don’t see the same spark in your eyes you had in that old group photo. And here I am, sitting and writing—so mad at the people I don’t even know. I’m hurting because they made you this way. They were supposed to be your safe space, not your personal hell. Matt Kahn said, “People can only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.” That’s why they couldn’t understand the storms inside your head, and all your silent battles go unnoticed. Because if they haven’t taken the time to reflect on their own feelings and experiences, how will they be able to uncover your layers? I can’t cast a spell to take away all your suffering with a snap or control your mind so you could forget everything that happened. I am a woman full of words, but sometimes, the words you need aren’t in my pocket. so instead, I’ll offer you one thing—allow me to sit beside you. We’ll create a world where pain doesn’t exist. Where love finally stays. Where it’s just comfort and solitude, and if pain somehow finds its way in, I’ll hold you gently and put band-aids everywhere it hurts. I would even kiss the bruises away if I have to. I hope that’s enough. I hope I’m enough.

it's as if you've collected all the promises you broke and made a graveyard out of them. 85

my name's love quinn. i was young when i convinced myself that when the right one arrived, i’ll be better because he will appreciate me even in my silence. that he doesn’t have to frighten me to confide my truth for he will be aware of what are my insecurities—my darkest secrets. the second your foot touched down at anavrin. i knew it was you. it should be. you don’t have to sneak around just so you could steal a glance of me. i know you’ve been watching me all day, but i have to act like i wasn’t cautious though. i allowed you to see what my world was like. on the other hand, i crawled out from the depth and observe what’s captivating in yours. now i know why it should be you— because you will understand me. who wouldn’t fall for a smart, deep, and handsome man like you? joe, you are too good to be true, yet i didn’t bother because i want you to be mine. and when you saw me at my worst, you looked at me as if i was the love of your life who couldn’t even break the glass. i took care of everyone that's coming in our way, for you— for our relationship. they’re a threat, but little did i know that i was the threat that stepping in your secret happiness. this is why the people of madre linda woke up with no love. i’ve seen this coming, but i want to know— joe, am i your favorite crime? you 86

if i had to speak about love, i would tell them about you. for you are an unstoppable force of nature, a meteor shower that ignites the fire in my heart. you casually stroll around and light up the night sky like a bright firefly, but how do you do it? how can you live here on earth and yet feel like you're out of this world? i don't even need to buy a hubble space telescope to see the cosmic galaxy— because your eyes show it to me for free. but even ten lifetimes would not be enough to say everything about you. which is why if i had to speak about love, i would simply utter your name. just say your name 87

You should’ve paid attention to all the things you said to me a long time ago, and for all those times that you chose to hurt me instead of admitting that in the first place, it was all your fault. You let me drown in all mistakes that weren’t really mine— just because you couldn’t accept the truth. Wherever you are, I hope you won’t discover the perfect blend of happiness or where the peace sleeps. Because at this moment, I’m still traumatized by all the things you did. 88 The Perfect Blend of Happiness

89 Windowpane & bitter truth is no one honestly counted how many times you fall and get up straight away— not even you. It may hurt a bit and haunt you often, particularly on those times you didn't anticipate. It can stop by on Christmas day, New Year's, and even on your birthday. And no matter how many years have passed, it won't remain obscure for it's still there, but the good thing about living is you can learn how to detour intricately every scar on your body—because if you can confront your old pain, none of it will scare you when they peek from your windowpane.

frozen section 90 i saw her again today. alone in that convenience store, head bent low, eyes red— and i know it’s about a boy who made her cry. i was holding her favorite ice cream, thinking maybe i could walk up, sit beside her, say nothing and just let her know she isn’t alone. but i froze. i stood there too long until the ice cream started to melt in my hand. so i stepped back. like i always do. the air still changes around her, like the world tilts just to make room for her sadness. and me—i wonder if she’ll ever realize how many times i’ve rewritten her name in my head like a secret spell i’ll never dare to say. this love has lived in me for years. quiet. hidden. gentle enough not to burn her, but fierce enough to keep burning me. how long can something stay cold in your hands?

91 It starts like a wave I can’t see coming building up in my chest — tightening, squeezing the air out of my lungs. My heart is pounding, each beat louder than the last — like it might burst through my ribs. My hands were cold and sweaty, and all I could see were blurry visions of things I couldn’t recognize. I. Can’t. Breathe. I’ve stayed in many situations longer than I should have. So when I say I know the sound of footsteps walking away from me before they even take a step, believe me. I’ve become so used to it that I mistook myself for a waiting shed. You can stay with me while you wait for someone. I provide comfort, rain or shine. I am your pause, your moment of respite in this exhausting world. And when the sun shines, the light will dim — a reminder that someone did stay here for a while. I’m not a stayer or a leaver; I’m a secret third thing: a lingerer

92 I thought that was my only purpose: to be their backup plan. But then you lingered and chose to stay. You helped me realize that I am worth it — that I am lovable. Even though you have your own battles, you still tried to hold my hand through it all. The feeling of being chosen was so unfamiliar to me that I ended up sabotaging it. I didn’t hear a single step, yet I felt you slipping away. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Try to list five things your eyes can see. Name something you can smell right now. Just… try.” I thought to myself as my hands shook and my eyes struggled to stay open. And then suddenly, I was thirteen, wondering why my friends had suddenly dropped me on a typical Thursday. I had no idea why they decided to eat lunch without me. It would have been understandable if just two or three of them had done it, but in my case, it was all of them, sitting and laughing in the cafeteria without informing me. I didn’t confront them or force myself to fit in again. Instead, I stepped back — just enough to let them know I was still there. I threw myself into different circles just so I wouldn’t be alone. That’s how scared I was of being left behind. I know people come and go — that they’re used to seeing me as a waiting shed. But I am more than just a structure. So, Demi, I’ll leave the light on for you — just in case you want to come back.

i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. i am still here. 94

name: [redacted] weight: heavier than i let on destination: wherever healing hides 95

97 The way I care about everyone makes me wish I had someone like me in my life. Growing up, I never had a hard time making friends. I might not be the first to reach out, but if someone spoke to me kindly, we’d become friends immediately. It was that easy to connect with me. It didn’t matter what your skin color, gender preferences, life status, or religion were—as long as you stayed true. That’s why at 13, I assumed it wouldn’t be tough to have a large circle of friends. I often ended up being the one who planned our hangouts —when, where, what time, and even what we were going to eat. It was nice to sit together and talk about our crushes, dreams, and even family problems. Listening to other people’s stories made me realize how blessed I was with what I had. And when you’re empathetic, you tend to extend your hand every time. No matter what you’re doing, what time it is, or how much you have on your plate, you listen and help — because that’s what your heart tells you to do. "Please tell me I'm not as forgettable as your silence is making me feel." — M.S.

98 I thought being there for them was enough to show how much I cared, but unfortunately, it wasn’t. So, I tried to find other ways to make them feel less alone. I gave them handwritten letters, and yes, it helped. Words are powerful they heal wounds you never knew needed mending. But when I needed support, I couldn’t find the words. It was like they disappeared from my notebook the moment I cried out for them. No one was there to remind me, “You’re strong; I know you can do this.” My 13-year-old self would probably pity me. I wonder what it feels like to be someone’s first choice, or even just included as an option — because in my case, I’m not even a consideration.

99 This is how I fall in love All the words that will come out of my mouth, would be instantly carved into your heart. I'm going to introduce you to these metaphors you never heard of— and no, you won't hear a single cliché pick-up line from me because I am not the unfinished letter of the person who loved you before. And for that, I will be remarkable. I will carefully memorize your favorite song. Listen to a lyric that speaks to you the most— because that would be definitely the map to your soul. I will watch your favorite movie and look over the line that left a special place in your heart, and maybe, I'd understand how to take care of you, my arms will be the safest place you've ever been. To the point that when you decided to run off, everywhere would be chaos— your home will give you an unnameable vibe because the only place that made you feel guarded was with me. I'm going to write you hundreds of poems and letters— you will be at ease that even receiving expensive gifts, won't matter to you anymore. Because finally, someone made you feel worthy. But when that's over, I'm moving on to the next chapter, and you will be the unfinished one.

“hey, uhmm.... i don’t know why i’m calling. i.... i just—never mind. it’s nothing.December 13, 2023 at 1:58 AMmy love2:00 AM- 0:23100

when you can’t trust your thoughts, trust my actions. trust the way i keep showing up. i care for you, not just when you shine, but also when you break. i’m not scared of you storm, my love. i would even bring an umbrella.101

102 Write a letter to someone you miss, admire, or forgive.

safe letter #5you’re allowed to be scared. i’ll hold your hand anyway. 103

this is where the light started coming in again. (you didn’t even notice it at first.) 104

105

the healing has already begun. 106

the next time you tell me your life is full of darkness, i will remind you— that you, demi, are the light shining through the cracks inside me.107

108

in where death doesn’t exist, she lives forever. not in body, but in words. this collection of prose and poems, along with notes and photographs, is a tender exploration of love, loss, and memory a space where the finality of death fades away. within these pages, pain is met with healing, sorrow with hope, and absence with presence. this book is a refuge for those who have lost, a place where grief becomes a bridge to understanding, and silence holds the echoes of a soul that refuses to be forgotten. through raw emotion and quiet strength, these writings remind us that endings are never truly endings—but transformations. between these lines, she breathes, she whispers, she lives immortalized by the power of language, images, and the heart’s unyielding desire to remember. because here, death doesn’t exist.