About


20's, sincere, dreamer, ghost writer
hi, the name's mercy-nicole
toronto, canada

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stop trying to make birks happen
they’re not going to happen!

Working on my palette. This is simply an excuse to buy 7 more unusual coloured lipsticks. Notice the dark colours 

Working on my palette. This is simply an excuse to buy 7 more unusual coloured lipsticks. Notice the dark colours 

When you appreciate not being a jump into one dark shade to represent all the dark skinned girls. If only drugstore brands wouldn’t make us feel like a final thought.

"Just by looking at your room, I can never tell if you’re home or not" - my roommate

"Just by looking at your room, I can never tell if you’re home or not" - my roommate

On the Lang Leav bandwagon and damn proud of it. Also reading Americanah because it sounds like something I can relate to. Besides, Purple Hibiscus was really good when I read it years ago. 

recent online buys. looks like i forgot spring’s arrival

seeing people with minimal shrinkage complain and smiling because your shoulder length hair shrinks to the length of your pinky

~~there should be a 75% hair shrinkage club already~~

everything is temporary

My feelings are valid. What I feel now is true. But it is temporary.

He called to tell me how he messed up. He mumbled for a while. I heard words like “regret” and “wish” and the awkwardness of unfinished sentences taken over by sighs. 

Me too Clyde. Me too. 

So he asks why I never call him. And I have so many answers to that single question but I remain silent. I honestly have nothing to say to him. He doesn’t need to know what’s going on in my life. He isn’t a part of it. He is just a shadow of my past that will fade as my silence drags on. 

And when I tell him to take care and hang up I can feel the tears. It’s hard to play numb. Clearly. 

Temporary. Everything is temporary. 

Last night I slept on my bedroom floor with my door open. The sleeping on the floor part happens often, but not the open door. This morning at dawn I woke up and from where I was lying I could see the head of my bed. This light here is from the living room shinning right through the gap of my open door and onto the wall/headboard of my bed. It was extremely pleasant waking up to a beautiful sight. No, this isn’t about to become a love poem about a person. I’m just glad to enjoy life’s simplicities. 

Last night I slept on my bedroom floor with my door open. The sleeping on the floor part happens often, but not the open door. This morning at dawn I woke up and from where I was lying I could see the head of my bed. This light here is from the living room shinning right through the gap of my open door and onto the wall/headboard of my bed. It was extremely pleasant waking up to a beautiful sight. No, this isn’t about to become a love poem about a person. I’m just glad to enjoy life’s simplicities. 

In better detail

Dating as I get older is intriguing in some ways. I no longer get super giddy, lost in feeling and all that. I mean it’s still there. Just not as amplified as getting to know his perception of the world without asking him any question that suggests my intent. I just listen to the way he talks, tells stories, describes himself, etc. And sometimes I’m so attentive I can observe his word choices like using “…so I chuck the ball over…” versus “…I throw the ball over…” combined with facial and hand expressions that give away how happy he is to recount this story to me. 

I may not be describing what I’m trying to describe accurately, but I know for a fact that it’s not just about the sweet words and feelings anymore. There’s something more that I can’t give a name to right now. Maybe I’ll re-write this when it all comes together better.