what stars are made of

darling nobody, loneliness is ten times worse when you’re far, far away from home and have nothing to hold on to. i begin to have problems with my host family, who believe they’re treating me like ‘a princess.’ they’re not. that’s all i know: i’m being treated like shit. i didn’t come to cancun, i realize, to cry every other day and spend my time lying facedown on my bed. i didn’t come to cancun to spend my saturdays cleaning the house of my host family, or to spend my own money on food- something i need to survive. i didn’t come to cancun to be lied to, to feel guilty despite doing nothing, to be scolded for every little thing i do. but i begin to think all this is normal: that i’m overreacting, even. the others tell me how close they are to their families, how much fun they have with them- and it all seems impossible to me. it all builds up to one fateful monday. i go home after a blissful weekend with my weekend family, and after i take a shower, my host mother materi...

the wind never stops whistling we're looking for skeletons in the dark the starless night disappears every october– it melts into the clouds with us. and you're unhappy, angry– but that's every day of our lives, isn't it? you could almost be flying over rooftops on your broomstick as the fire crackles, warm and loving it burns us down to ashes– we're nothing and we're never going to be. october comes and i sigh when i realize you're still the monster that you were yesterday. and– unsurprisingly, i suppose– so am i. there are skeletons in the closet don't pull them out , you say and i bite back the words that threaten to spill out, a warning. no matter what we do, no matter how long we last you're always going to be a monster to me, the scariest creature of all. and when you leave– i know you will one day i'll pull each skeleton out of the closet and then i'll beg– beg you to stay.

darling nobody, the days that follow are some of the most depressing days i’ve had. all my wisdom, my epiphanies disappear into dust, when i realize what a rut i’m stuck in, a cycle of unhappiness. daily life is a sham , i text my friend. with a sigh, i accept that travelling is all i ever want to do, the only thing that seems to matter now- but of course, there’s other things to do, responsibilities to fulfil- and miles to go before i sleep. it’s sort of like a hangover, coming back to reality- it’s painful and hard-hitting. i am mopey and tired and everything feels like a chore. every alternate day becomes ‘the worst day ever’ and my friend, aine, i imagine, gets used to my depressed text messages in a while. her words comfort me more than anyone else’s. i’ve known aine for two years now, and it was always tragic- how far we are. she lives in america, while i live in india: the time zones mess things up, we’d hardly ever be awake at the same time. in just a week in mex...