We Are The Generation That Doesn’t Know How To Tell The Truth


It’s funny. If it was just so easy to be honest about our feelings, we’d all be standing right outside someone’s door, professing a long-time crush, a long-unaddressed feeling, and probably some stalkerish devotion we’ve been keeping inside.

If it’s just so easy to talk about feelings, we’d all be standing right on someone’s lawn, holding up a boombox on top our heads, singing somebody a love song; and there’s going to be two less lonely people in this cruel world.

In another universe, had it been so easy to talk about how we feel, I’d be standing outside your door telling you that the other day, when you looked at me, I melted on the spot. Not the kind of melting that had me weak on my knees but the kind where my breath hitched for a split second and there’s this rush of something really warm, like a very giddy feeling that is somehow able to block away every dark corner of my day.

If it was so easy to talk about feelings, I’d be telling you that there hasn’t been anybody else in the longest while that has made my heart skip a beat.

And granted, you don’t know, but the other day, when you sat so close to me, I realized that I had imagined an entire world where everything isn’t the same, and in that world, you look at me the way I sometimes look at you.

If it was so simple to talk about feelings, I’d tell you that it has been a while since I thought about how easy it would be to just sleep and never wake up. I’d tell you that every morning since I’ve come to know you, I wake up really wanting to wake up. I’d tell you that you save me from myself everyday and when you smile or when you do that little laugh, you bring me closer and closer to believing that it’s so, so easy to be alive in a world that constantly weighs you down.

And it’s probably minute, it probably doesn’t matter but if it had been so easy to talk about feelings, I’d tell you that in my world, you’re not the light. You’re that tiny crack that allows light to slither even in the darkest corners of my being.

If it was just so easy, I’d tell you that I have tried my very best to run, to delete every playlist I made for you but I can’t—because I’m a creature of habit and every time I run, all roads seem to lead to you. And damn it, I have laughed to all your corny jokes, I’ve supported all your random antics, and I even respected the kind of distance you wanted for yourself—how do you not see it? How do you not fucking see the way I look at you like you’re the sun, like you mean so much to me; like I’d probably jump off a bridge if you asked me to.

If it was just so easy, I’d tell you that the other day, I saw you throw your head back in sheer laughter and your eyes shone of something so happy, so positive and I wanted to hold your hand and be the person who gets to do that just because I can; and I’d also tell you that sometimes, when you’re so confused, you’d crease your forehead like you’re figuring out the solution to world hunger. When you walk, you have this little bounce in your step. When you’re tired, your shoulders slack and you slouch on your chair like it’s nobody’s business. And you’re so wonderful, and gorgeous, and you’d hate it when I tell you this but you’re very nice; and all these little things about you make you so, so easy to love.

And if it’s just so easy to talk about feelings, I’d ask you how the fuckin’ hell you don’t recognize the way I have loved you every day.

If it’s just so easy, maybe, I wouldn’t be writing this. maybe I wouldn’t be writing all the poems I’ve shared on Instagram. Maybe the writer in me would’ve died a long time ago.

If it’s just so easy, I’d probably stop offering you the moon and the sky even if you want the sun. If it’s just so easy, I’d be the sun but I’m not.

Maybe the reason it’s so hard to talk about feelings is not because of fear of losing something, nor is it about the tons of things that could change.

Maybe it’s so hard to talk about feelings because we all could be standing right outside someone’s door—and after we’re done the door will remain closed.

Maybe the reason we don’t use words for feelings is because sometimes, words are never enough. That even after a 1000-word blog, I’ll still never be the sun. I’ll forever be the girl who offered you the moon and the sky even though you’d rather go blind just looking at the sun.