I hate this feeling of inadequateness- like everything good is happening somewhere else and you’re stuck here waiting for your happy beginning to no avail. I don’t need a man but it’ll be good to have one too. Or, to have someone who actually likes you. Somebody who finds you beautiful just the way you are. Someone who treats you like an object of affection. Somebody who thinks about you before they fall asleep.

Awash with self-doubt and a dawning realisation of my own capabilities and how I am viewed by others, I find myself spiralling further away from where I want to be and who I can be.

It can’t be denied that everybody wants to be loved but who will freely admit it? We all want to preserve that slightest bit of dignity in us.

Alone. With my girlfriends, a shot of vodka and the ink spread across the paper, scribblings of love long lost and chances not taken. I don’t dare to look into people’s eyes for fear they see what I feel, from my eyes. Hope. Desire. Sadness.