Ella, if you please. :)

Sixteen.
Asian.

Distressingly
melodramatic/passive/obsessive/unethusiastic/
strange/normal/dumb/bright
and lots of other fun contradictions.

I created this acount four years ago.
I didn't write well. It's actually embarrassing as hell realising just how awful I was.

I haven't written here in four years.
I hope I still remember how to. ;)

And because I love random ass quotes that shake me:

And yet, when you get here, you are not given instructions. No one tells you that heart A is meant to slot into heart B. There are no diagrams about how you are meant to live each day or directions on how to assemble some semblance of happiness. You are not even told what colours to paint your feelings or, given a purpose and a reason for your life.

You have to make all of it up. You have to make all of it, yourself.

And when we speak now, seldom as that is, the old language returns. I wonder if it makes old names make guest appearances in your mind. If you can feel the skin of my neck near yours one more time. Do you reach across the bed for a shape, no longer there. Do you remember it clearly or is it all just memories of memories. Is there still warmth from my fingers tracing the contours of your skin, left somewhere in your body. If you smell the smell of how I used to smell in a crowd, do you think of these things. Is something missing in everyone else's or someone new's voice. Will they never know quite how to laugh or breathe just behind your ear. Do they know what you look like when you want to leave a party, when you've had too much of people. Could they rebuild your body out of clay if they needed to, because they've touched it so many times. Does your back still arch the way it used to when I still kissed you.

Does an old singer sing an old song on an old radio.

Do the lyrics still shake your fucking soul.

Did it sound like this?