Hur hjärtat fungerar

Jag tog bara en fysiologi kurs, så jag tror att jag vet hur hjärtat ser ut och hur det fungerar. Men varför det känns som om det klämmas ihop varje gång jag tänker på dem förflutna. De som aldrig kommer tillbaka. Vad jag än önskar.

Vad är den här känslan som jag känner. Känslan jag känner innan tårarna börjar rinna. Eller om de inte rinner så är det eftersom jag gör ett försök att hålla det tillbaka. De har aldrig lärt oss om det på kursen. Och jag undrar varför. Är det kanske eftersom det inte är en del av hur en normal person skall fungera?


Torture Chamber

What do you have in mind when you hear the words ‘torture chamber’?

I used to imagine it as some kind of small room in a medieval tower full of iron shackles and sharp weapons.

But I realise now that you don’t need all that to create a torture chamber.

Just try walking barefoot in a room full of shattered dreams and broken hearts, with no intention to let go.

That should be enough of a torture.



One day, one of my best friends asked me what I did to escape from sadness.

The truth is, I don’t. I never escape sadness. I embrace dwell on it.

I will cry, a lot.

I will start compiling a playlist on Spotify which reflects what I’m currently feelings, and have a good cry with it.

And me being me means that I will cry anywhere, at any time. Before going to sleep, just after I wake up, on the way to the office, IN the office, at the park, when meeting my friends, when texting my friends, in the bathroom, you name it.

At this stage, everything will look bleak to me. I cannot walk too fast (and I’m already a slow walker). I will have to stop at whatever I’m doing every now and then, just to gather my thoughts.

I will break down, completely. And I don’t know when this will end. Or if it will eventually end.

But after some time, I will cry a little less. I will be able to function to some extent. And at this point, I will find another way to channel my feelings.


It is funny and rather ironic how in my happy times I could not fill this blog with a single sentence. But when I am messed up, words seem to just explode from my heart. Like water bursting from a hose. I can not put a stop to it. I will need to let these out. It’s really an embodiment of the following passage:

“…all sad people write. It’s a form of catharsis, a way of working through things that feel unresolved, like undoing a knot. People who are prone to sadness are more likely to pick up a pen.”

– Lang Leav, Sad Girls

Apart from writing, music is another way for me to escape sadness. I mean, by playing it.

I realise that once I have the energy to lift my fingers, the melodies will just fall into place. I wish I were a little bit more competent in this department. That way, I might be able to start composing my own song and sell it like Taylor Swift (I don’t know why I refer to her).

What else?

I cannot think of anything else, honestly. I knew some people escape the sadness by working. I really admire people who could do that. Me? I broke down to tears at work it seems a little hopeless.

But I guess people have their own way to cope with sadness, no?



She has promised to stay. But she keeps fading away with every passing day. Why? You wonder. You have given your all. Trust me, she knows. But there is nothing that she could do. Because how can you love when your heart is half broken? You need to mend it first. But how do people mend a broken heart? A heart is not a porcelain to be glued together. Neither is it a fabric to be sewn together. A heart like hers is best left alone.

Are you sure?

You wonder once again. You see her fingers bleed from trying to hold on to something that is not there. You see her become paler and paler, helplessly. Is it from the loss of blood? Or is it actually the loss of hope which is more dangerous?

You will probably never know. And neither will she.


The Game of Love

I’ve been listening to some heartbreaking, sad love songs lately, and I suddenly realise that some of these songs mentioned about how they (the singers, I assume) were losers, or fools because they were playing by the rules. And honestly, that perplexed me a lot.

First thing first, what are the rules? And secondly, what kind of game let the players lose when they had clearly followed the rules? Are we not supposed to play by the rules then?

As someone who had been trying all her life to follow the rules for everything, I realise now that I am clearly a sore loser in this game of love.



Love and Misadventure by Lang Leav (Book)

I am not sure since when my blog turned into a kind of book recension website. I do not have any intention to turn my blog into one, actually. It’s just that I’ve been reading quite some books lately (nothing related to my studies unfortunately 🙈🙈🙈 #shame).

Anyway, Love and Misadventure is the third Lang Leav’s book I’ve read. I should have probably read it first, since this was her first book. But I did not get hold of the book before now, so… 🙂

Overall, I like this book, but not as much as Memories. Probably because I have read some of the poems in Memories? But I think it’s also because I feel that the poems are not as dramatic, sad, and dark as I had hoped (yes, I am a very dark person 🖤). But it’s still worth reading, though. I will give 3.75 stars out of 5 (strange score, I know 😂⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️).

And… here’s one of my favourite poems from the book:

Just Friends

I know that I don’t own you,
and perhaps I never will,
so my anger when you’re with her,
I have no right to feel.

I know that you don’t owe me,
and I shouldn’t ask for more;
I shouldn’t feel so let down,
all the times when you don’t call.

What I feel—I shouldn’t show you,
so when you’re around I won’t;
I know I’ve no right to feel it—
but it doesn’t mean I don’t.

– Lang Leav, Love and Misadventure