She is soft-spoken, they said. The reason why, they never asked.

I am not that girl, so loud, always chirping like a bird.
Hyperactive and melodramatic, laughing hard and cracking jokes,
always standing out amongst her folks.

So many people have told me that I need to open up,
but not a single person understands that every time I pry apart my rib cage,
releasing all of the butterflies that have been hiding in there for years,
people are too busy swatting them away, to realise what I have done for them.

Perhaps, it is the type of conversations you hold with me.
The consistency of the conversations you have with me.
How would I let my soul talk aloud when it feels no connection?

I despise small talks. There is so much more I want to talk about.
Death, aliens, intimacy, magic, faraway galaxies, the meaning of life.
Your favourite scents, your childhood, what keeps you up at night,
your insecurity and fears.


I like people with depth, who speak with emotion, a twisted mind.
I don't want to know "what's up".

Thinking aloud and sending you love,