How to love a girl who can’t love herself.


When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.


On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.


Don’t let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says “I think I’m broken” smile like you
know a secret and say, “No, you’re mending.”
But do not be the one to fix her – no, she
must be the one to do it herself, and you
merely are there to quietly encourage her.


Read her poetry (even if you are
not a poet), the kind that uses
flowery words and compares girls to
the moon; the kind that you will
rewrite for her. Make her a warrior.
Make her a goddess with eyes like a
wolf’s and a smile like a tiger’s.


Laugh with her the first thing in
the morning and the last thing before
you fall asleep. Tell her cheap puns
that you’ve been thinking of for weeks.
And when she smiles – the type of smile
that could bring you to your knees if
you aren’t careful – know that for the
moment, she’s yours. She is whole.


Love her. Love her like a fish loves
the sea or a bird loves the sky. Love
her in the way that your heart feels like
it’s going to burst at any moment every
time it beats. Love her skin and the way
it feels against your own, soft and warm
and utterly flawless. Love her for the way
her voice trembles when she can’t keep it
together anymore and love her when she
holds onto you as if you were the only
thing that was keeping her alive.


Love her, because some days she just can’t do it herself.


Do you see the nights I see?

Do you see the nights I see?
The light that glows from the stars?
The Moon that says Hello and Goodnight in the same sentence?
I hope you do… I would feel sad to be to far away…




The stars are lonely.
I love them through thick and thin.
If only they knew.
Maybe they would twinkle all
the more. If only they knew.



I felt bad for stars. Because to us they look all close together and stuff, but they are far away from any of their brethren. They have nothing but themselves. I like to go outside and tell them stories.

If only they knew.

Stars in the Night

They will try to blind you, and claim that they are truthful. They will shape a world for you at the end of a long journey, promising all will be well. Being a human, we believe them and we walk. We take the trip that swears happiness and success, the one they have paved in front of us.

The journey is a dark tunnel with the inevitable light at the end. In the beginning, it is nothing but a pinprick, a speck of white on a black canvas, a lifetime away. With uneven steps towards it, the light burns fiercer, surrounded by oblivion. Soon, you are walking forward by your own two feet, or so you think. It becomes a march, by trying to change pace, it is apparent that this is no ordinary journey, for you are not in control. This is something else, a play, and you have become a puppet.

This dark claustrophobic tunnel is a place called life, a place of deception and fragile hearts so easily crippled. Where you can spread your soul as far as you like with kindness and love, but if you do not pull the strings for once, a puppet is all you will be. A lifetime of a journey later, when your success is at its peak, and you have danced their dance, the light is within your reach. As you get closer, it overwhelms you, shining through the darkness with a beautiful glow that vows truth, love, and the one promise that is sought for the most, but is always broken; Freedom.

Light floods through the huge space, it leaks into your body, through your skin, into your veins, spreading like a virus, infecting your thoughts, willing you to stay in the light, but not to go in it. But the curious are the curious, and there is always a need to go a little closer than most wouldn’t even dare to think of.

Nothing lasts forever, and promises are always broken, there is never any full truth, or trust, or belief, because all of these things are the light. The tiny pinprick of light that gives so much and never asks for anything in return. Just another lie, another half truth, another thief that steals something away when you’re not looking. It overshadows reality and paints over it with a clean, new brush. But there will always be a first painting underneath, if you look closely, you can still see where the lines used to be.


It burns at your skin, but your feet still move forward towards the opening, towards freedom. It tickles your nerves and excites your heart. This is finally the moment where you can soar the way you have only done so in your dreams, there is no fear, no chains, no strings of a puppet, nothing to hold you back-

Through all the light, they finally bleed through to your eyes. Bars. Cold, metal bars in the warm, warm hope filled light. Just as it turns out, the light was never there, the truth was never there and there was never any freedom.

It’s all rules and paved paths and leashes and guide ropes to a promise, which shatters as easily as glass. “All will be well”? All is well when you make it well, not when it is promised. All is well whenever it is wished for, and not a moment sooner. Let not your light be given, but see it in reality, in the darkness, not one doorway of hope, but a scatter of goodness, white against black, stars in the night