Layla sat in the coffee shop, trying to focus on her copy of War and Peace. Surely, by reading this classic work of literature, she seemed like an intellectual, perhaps even classy. Her decorative scarf was tied around her neck and she believed that this, too, made her mysterious, as if she could be both elusive and obviously intriguing.

Her cardigan hid the scars running down her arms.

She is waiting for a text from two guys she probably won't hear from today. That was it, and perhaps what her life stood for at the point: waiting for the little screen to light up with a revelation, I'm worthwhile after all.

In the psychiatric facility she has now frequented five times, she has struggled with the concept that she is a worthwhile person. Her romantic struggles were often the root of her spirals down to rock bottom. She did things to herself she wasn't proud of, but then again, who would ever know?

One of the men finally texted her, her little screen lighting up and her manic fingers rushing to open her phone. She had attempted to make New Years plans with him. He was texting to turn her down, two days after she sent the text. She later learned that he was two-timing her, and had plans with someone else. But in that moment, it almost felt okay.

Wasn't she doing the same thing, anyway?

Okay, she thought. That's okay. I have the second guy.

But the second guy also turned her down. He asked if they could just be friends.

Of course I care about you, he texted. But it's obvious you feel very strongly about me and I'm not able to return those feelings, at least at this point in my life.

But, Layla thought, he would never actually return those feelings. She had done this before. It was always the same.

She thought of her times in the psychiatric facility, and her thoughts of being alone forever. No one, she felt - now with certainty - would ever love her back. It was her fate. She thinks briefly of going home and tying her decorative scarf around her neck, pushing a chair out from under her.

Now, not only did she not have New Years plans, she had no one else to text.

She thought of her old friend, the one who most likely took too many pills and was no longer on earth, and how this had happened to her, too. She thought briefly of her once saying to her, after a man had dumped her: I should have known it would always be just me and my dog.

Layla wonders if she will ever find someone to marry. Her little sister had just gotten engaged and she had nothing but rage inside of her. She was thirty. She was too old for this game, too old for this kind of rejection.

She would walk out of the coffee shop and lock eyes with a handsome man. He would look away immediately.

Layla thought: I am not pretty to look at.

It was this thought (perhaps self-pity) that led her to spiral. She looked at women who were pretty, and therefore married, the ring perched on their finger - not in victory, but in an average way. A way that was normal, something that had happened to them, like brushing their teeth.

She thought about how women who were in committed romanic relationships carried on with this, their normality. She thought about how they raised families with loving partners. Again, it was so normal to have this. It drove her to tears each time she thought about it.

It made her blood boil.

Layla leaves the cafe and takes off her scarf, the one to make her a pretty girl. She decides that not only will she never find love, she will never get married, and have the most basic human life in existence. Maybe she needs a chair.

She is alone.

One of the most romantic nights I’ve ever had

Was with a man I didn’t like the day I met him

I thought he was pretentious

And he kind of is

But the warmth in his smile

And the sureness of his hands on my hips

Made me feel seen

And valued

For the first time in so long.

We’d had a little too much to drink at the hostel we were at, and our newfound friends were eager for a midnight swim. It took next to no time at all for us to all strip and run into the oceans warm embrace, dripping saltwater and moonlight.

I haven’t felt that beautiful in so long.

He was a stronger swimmer than I was, but I knew this beach and it’s riptides like the back of my hand. He called out to me, the both of us a little lost without our glasses. Our hands met for a split second before a wave crashed down over our heads with a mighty force. Black waves upon black skies would otherwise terrify me, but as we resurfaced laughing like maniacs, I felt at peace.

His hands reached mine once more, and he pulled me in. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, my arms locked around his neck. He whispered a breathy “there you are” against my skin as his hands made their way from my thighs to my back. I barely giggled a shy “hello” before his lips were on mine and the next wave was upon us.

We resurfaced together, a sudden primal need overtook us both after a short pause, his hands embedding themselves into my hair, my nails leaving well worn evidence down his back.

We stumbled out of the oceans glittering depths, leaving the others to sort themselves. We slipped past security, grabbed our clothes from their sandy graves, and ran up the stairs to the yoga deck overlooking the entire beach. The residual heat of the wood stoked a fire in us, and we lost ourselves, and track of time.

Until we breathlessly untangled, both staring up at the Milky Way dancing above our heads. Our moment of peace was brief as our friends came searching for us with flashlights lit and laughter at our state cracking the peaceful facade.

We shimmied into our damp sandy clothes, found our glasses, not our shoes, and walked hand in hand back to the common area in the darkness. After a pause, and three more stolen kisses, we parted ways as lovers, only to reconvene as friends the following morning.

I think about him sometimes.

In no way do I believe we could have ever been together, we were incompatible at best, but for a moment, we had stolen a night to be soulmates.

Closing my eyes,

I see blackness,

Throwing away its hidden colours,

Creating huge skies,

Of imaginary happiness,

Wanting me to keep them there,

Because I know,

When I open them,

I’m exposed to a line up of lies,

And failed tries,

And unwanted goodbyes,

That ensues only uncalled cries.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry if I went too fast and too urgently.

I'm sorry if I messed up.

You see, I'm just worried we will miss what we have right now. We will never get this moment, this chance again. And I don't want to miss out on all the amazing places it could take us. Down the alleyways in Rome, to the island in the clouds, to somewhere only we can go.

I - I'm sorry.

Please forgive me.

I understand if you don't. Maybe it was selfish of me to go fast, to act as if you wanted to glimpse the possibilities. Perhaps I should have let you breathe, let us stabilize, before rushing to the next idea.

I know you won’t see this, and if you do, it’ll probably be too late, but please know, I do mean it. I am sorry.

I’m sorry.

'Come on, pick up the phone,' she muttered anxiously as she dialled Steve. Continuously she watched the news, flipping to numerous channels, silently praying that her fiancè was safe in Russia.

Reaching the Russia's premier news channel, she let out a sigh of relief. In the city Steve was staying for his business trip, there's a small riot reported nearby.

Amid the crowded atmosphere, the reporter spewed out words as loud as possible. Then, her worst nightmare came true.

• • •

Grabbing a bouquet of fresh crimson roses, he held out a couple of dollars then strode out of the store. The lemon-gold glow slowly reached the horizon where heaven met earth. The world was blanketed with the breathtaking gradient of purple-aureate. The fragrant whiff accompanied the soft breeze as he waltzed by park, heading towards The Flavour, one of the most restaurant known for its scrumptious ambrosia.

After uttering his fiancée name, Felicia, to the receptionist, a waiter dressed in a monochromatic suit ushered the way. The sophisticated dining area was in a glass dome. A quartz chandelier glimmered as it hung from the ceiling. Aromatic smell entered his nostrils as he passed by diners who were indulging the dishes. The clashing of his heels against the floor were muffled by the burgundy carpet laid across the room.

Arriving at the table with the reserved sign, he sat on the ornate cushioned chair. The roses glistened with dews on its divine petals under the glitter from the lighting. Tapping his fingers ebony table, he gazed out the floor-to-ceiling glass. The celestial moonlight shone over the serene waves. The cream crescent hung up in the pitch black sky with tiny sparkles scattered across its boundless canvas.

Waiting for Felicia, his excitement bubbled up at the thought meeting her after a long gruelling period of work kept them apart.

After an hour, anxiety kicked in. He pressed 'call' on his phone. The moment he got hold of her, he uttered her name urgently.

' Steve, I want to ask something,' she mumbled, her words sounded cold and distant.

' Anything,' he answered readily.

' What was the colour I wore during last year's Valentine? ' she questioned.

Without a second thought, he threw out the word 'Orange,' The moment that word got out, a lady in an orange ruched lace up mini dress sashayed towards him. The recognition made he feel a cold shiver down his spine. His face whitened. She knew...

' Hi, honey,' the escort called seductively, her hem was riding up as she strode along the red carpet.

' Goodbye.' she whispered and phone went dead. The world came crushing down. The petal turned brown at the short of water.

• • •

She squinted on the television screen. A couple passed by at the background. Silver blond hair, tan skin and familiar sky blue eyes now shone with delight. She caught a glimpse of the ruby, glinting at top his button-down shirt with the sliver chains around in the symbol of infinity. An early Valentine gift she made for him was now witnessing the betrayal unfold.

A gasp fell out of her. Tears spilling down her cheeks without knowing. She cupped her faces and let go her floodgates as she lied on her couch, silently telling herself that he would come back and confess his mistake. Everything would go back to where it belonged.

A pristine diamond sat elegantly on her finger as she waited.

A year passed.

He never did.

• • •

After hanging up the last call they would ever have, she looked at the calm sea. Waves of water accompanied her pain as she stood at the pavement of London Bridge.

Letting go a deep breath, the band was removed. Every second was agonizing. Flashbacks of their lives together bombarded her mind. Her broken heart beating could be heard among the noisy street as she blanked out. With a great might, she threw it into the water. No dropping sound could be heard, as insignificant as how their future would ever be.

Nothing lasts forever.

But what about love?

Well...

Maybe it always ends in heartbreak.

Bad timing and endings without goodbyes.

Accidents, deaths, and grieving losses.

Insults and abuse; crying on the floor.

Falling out of love for the same reasons you once fell in it.

Separation, divorce, and custody battles.

Fighting without being fought for.

Holding on to someone who's already gone.

Fights and breakups and lonely nights.

Drunk calls and mistaken makeups and one night stands.

Ignoring and being ignored.

Wondering how they moved on so easily.

Maybe love, like everything else, is bound to disappear eventually.

in another life we could have been us

we could have been unstoppable

we could have been as legendary as romeo and juliet

we wouldn’t have to be that though, we would just be us

in another life

maybe all the hurt and pain would have worked out

maybe she wouldn’t have tried so hard to wreak what we had

maybe we would have seen our worth before it was too late

myabe one of us would have reached out and said something because we knew what was happening

maybe we would have cared enough

in another world

maybe we could have been happy

maybe in another life you would’ve been happy to be my other half and i you

maybe in another life

but not this one

I wish that we were meant to be.

I wish that our fate was written in the stars and that we were two missing pieces of soul looking for each other.

I wish we could have loved each other as fiercely as fires burn and with enough kindness and warmth that everything else would pale and fade into the background.

I wish you saw me the way I saw you.

And I wish so many more things that won’t come true.

I know I’m naive, and I know I can’t get everything I want.

That’s why I’ve accepted that’s its only fair, all wishes can’t come true. They are only wishes for a reason, and not reality.