Cheers, my good fellow.

It's like being in a glass of champagne. You know the pretty beige at the bottom, where bubbles rise in a sparkling display of cheer and weightlessness? Not that. It feels more like I'm lying on the surface of the liquid. The part that no one looks at, which is turbulent and full of bubbles bursting all around me while I try frantically to miss all of them. In the hope that I can escape and figure out why something that is celebratory, and deemed by the world to be absolutely wonderful, is threatening to burst a bubble right under my dainty little ass and shoot me straight off into the heavens.

What's on your mind?

"There’s too many things I haven’t done yet.

Too many sunsets I haven’t seen."

"I apologize once again, I’m not in love

But it’s not as if I mind that your heart ain’t exactly breaking.

Yes, I deserve nothing more than I get,

Coz nothing I have is truly mine."

You never asked me this, but I’ll tell you anyway. I hate that everything I write turns out being about you. I hate that I can see where I’ll be ten years from now. I hate that you expect me to be a certain way, and then I am.

You never asked me, darling, but I’ll tell you anyway. I am going to go to Egypt one day. And Paris. And Rome. And all the clichéd places that one wants to see. Who knows, maybe even live there for a while. What scares me is that I’ll turn 50 and I still won’t have done any of this.

You never asked me, but lemme tell you anyway. I hate that you have an opinion on everything that I am. And I hate that it matters to me.

You, on the other hand, never asked me. Annoyingly selfless as you are, You gave me everything: birth, life, lessons and laughter, and still, you didn't ask me. All this time I have loved you and fought with you and rebelled against you. It took me a while to come around. You never asked me, but I’ll tell you anyway. I miss you. So much so that it aches. I do, I love you.