I think that’s the problem. Either I love too much or not at all. Either I enjoy your company or feel disgusted by every moment. I live to the extremes.

I think that’s the problem. Either I dream too much or not at all. Either I crave the silence or drown in the noise. Either I hold on too tightly or let go too soon, too easily. Either I feel everything or nothing at all.

I think that’s the problem. Either I love like I’ve never been broken by this filthy world or recoil at the thought of being touched. Either I pour my soul into people or disappear before they can ask me to stay.

Either I bare my heart like an open wound or pretend I never had one to begin with. Either I run toward love or build walls too high for even light to slip through.

I think that’s the problem. Either I cling to memories until they turn to dust or erase them before they can haunt me. Either I find poetry in the smallest moments or let life blur into something unremarkable.

Either I drown in nostalgia or refuse to look back at all. Either I put myself together with hope or let the wounds breathe until they consume me.

I think that’s the problem. Either I chase the stars like they owe me answers or let the night swallow me whole. Either I believe in fate or refuse to trust anything I can’t hold.

Either I fight for meaning or surrender to the void. Either I exist in dreams or live in the illusions of daydreaming.

I think that’s the problem—that I live to the extremes.

— Sadia Hakim // from Letters Unsent