native new yorker with dominican roots. writer of all things love, life, family, sex, friends and everything in between. a not so secret obsession with stringing along words to form perfect sentences - reflecting what the mouth can't say. 


This was written on a receipt in my wallet: 

The hardest part isn’t the broken heart or the sleepless night.
It aches, yes. But that’s something that can be defined. I know exactly what it is, why it is and that only time can heal such a thing.
The hardest part is figuring out who I am or was and if I even want to be that person again. How can I be me without you? And perhaps that was my mistake – I poured everything I had into you and you were still empty.
The hardest part is the desperate need to locate my mind. I can tell you what I’m not but I can’t tell you what I am.
Suffocating, drowning in uncertainty like I don't know how to survive. 


“You should say thank you more.”

I'm Coming Out.