It’s 4.25 am.

My flatmate just asked me to make him a Nesquik,

turning the box with his toe

so I could see how you spell ‘Nesquik’.

I just finished uni.

I know I could have tried harder

but who couldn’t?

Three years now complete.

Fuck.

What will I do now?

Not sleep, that’s for sure.

I’m wide awake.

I’m not making him a milkshake

unless he’s super nice to me.

I have no idea why he’s awake.

We’re in the kitchen,

he’s on his phone,

I’m doing this,

relishing over the words I can write for me

again.

Not marked, not scorned, not judged.

Not yet anyway.

Earlier someone called me brave.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

Brave connotes an armour,

a defence,

a strength.

I’m 21, I’ve lived a lot of years,

done a lot of shit,

got more to come

but right now

I’m fine with brave.

It’s easy to wear your heart on your sleeve.

It’s harder to talk about it.

I’m not sure what’s next for me.

Home is home but the people there aren’t.

Family don’t treat you like this.

They don’t even know

that I’m done,

polished,

ready.

This year is the beginning.

The first for others to tell me I’m good at this.

I like brave.

I like wearing my heart on my sleeve.

Honesty is both poison and heaven.

Take it or leave it.

I have a lot of decisions to make.

Maybe I’ll make that milkshake now…

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