When You're Sensitive, Your World Is Always Crumbling—crumbling And Rebuilding, Rebuilding And Crumbling,

Even if you were hanging off the edge of a cliff, with a white knuckle grip and only me to save you, I will never forgive you. I'd pry each one of your fingers off, the dying olive branch you clung to and I'll never forgive you. The asteroid will hit, wipe out everyone on earth, leaving us as it's last wanderers. The sky will open up and the waves will rise to devour us. The gods from the heavens above will rage and swallow whole this desolate planet. I'd sit next to you through it all, maybe hold your hand as the world ends and I still will never forgive you.

—Camille Lee, I will never forgive you

do you think you can write something using the words iridescent💎 or fractal~🌈✨?" 👀

I closed my eyes as I felt the warm water on my skin, cascading through my hair, down my neck and down my back. I run my palms over my damp hair and I open my eyes to see the way the sunlight catches the water from the showerhead, through the bathroom window. I smile as I think to myself it looks like a mini waterfall, magical, ethereal and otherworldly. Like little tiny fairies should be fluttering around the water that seems to sparkle at this time of day. Iridescent shampoo bubbles dance off the tiled walls and pop. In the stillness and silence, I remember living isn't only in the grand, but also in the quietness of a bath after a long hard day.

—Camille Lee, iridescent shampoo bubbles

You and I were stranded. Trapped, in the school’s gymnasium. The rain was starting to coming down, it was pouring. There was this hummingbird rhythm in my chest, loud as drums, where you and I lie, side by side, in dark blue skirts and white school shirts, on worn gym mats. The sound compelling, if I let it. Supposedly my feelings lie on some sort of spectrum? All I know is you and I, no matter what, aren't clear cut. I fantasize, or do I fetishize? I'm hoping you don’t realize, I want to kiss between your eyes, and that mine linger on your thighs. Echoes in a empty colosseum, ourselves as our own audience and with no one to witness it. I’m too young to know what I want, young and confused, in a "phase I'll grow out of eventually." Does it mean anything? If your hands linger on my waist? You make a mistake in your haste, kiss the corner of my lips instead of my cheek, before you leave. You giggle, because what else could it possibly mean? 

—Camille Lee, her

You have a beautiful talent for writing. May you always continue to write so passionately and may you continue writing in that beautiful manner that somehow never ceases to leave me in awe. Love life and ascend dear friend! Rooting for you and wishing you all the best, dearest Camille.

Oh my gosh🥺 <3 this was so incredibly sweet of you to say🤧 thank you anon 💞 that was beautiful, I'm honoured🥺 I'll come back to read your kind words every time I feel doubt towards my ability to write. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, I'll cherish your words always and wishing you all the best as well. —Camille Lee 🎀

She's sickenly sweet like honey with her crooked teeth, her breath smells like candy and her pretty stray eyelash, decorates her cheeks. She's a Venus fly trap. She's got stickers in her hair, glitter on her face and paint on her shoes. She gives her heart away like she has nothing to lose. She's the kind to make wishes on dandelions and to believe that when the stars align she can communicate with the divine in her dreams. We drove out to a field, laid under her "special tree" and watched the tall grass sway in the sunlight. It was something out of a movie. Do I want to be her or do I want to be with her? I couldn't pull it apart without leaving behind spider webs of her and I, traces of each other, like perfume clinging to a sweater I haven't worn in months. She's like a dream.

—Camille Lee, dream girl

I'm not religious but I prayed for this, I begged the sky, I pleaded with the earth, the dirt under my fingers, fistfuls in each hand, the grass beneath my feet and the rocks scraping my knees. I implored the planet, the cosmos and the isolating, quiet of the pitch-black backdrop of the abyss, of the universe, of the stars and all that exists far beyond my reach. please, please send me the one, the perfect one, the destined one, my other half, my soulmate, the one to complete me. I don't believe in love at first sight but I still wish to be loved unabashedly. I stumble in my prayer, does such a person even exist? am I incomplete?

—Camille Lee

I'm a long way from the girl who sat under the mango tree, in the back of the school and listen to cars passing by on the highway after school. She would close her eyes and pretend the sound of the cars on the road were the sound of waves crashing on the shoreline. She had the wildest and most vivid imagination. I look at her now in photos and memories, and I realize, I'm not that kid anymore, I'm not. The magic of the world isn't held in my eyes anymore.

—Camille Lee, 4:30 p.m.

We were made for connection, us, it's what makes us human. The crook of my shoulder is a resting place for your weary head, your hand fits snug in mine and it might seem silly to say but we fit together like puzzle pieces when we cuddle, arms around my waist, you're fast asleep while I admire the details of your face. Falling into you would be easy— so easy, it would be like breathing. Therefore I think I deserve some credit, for resisting your outstretched hand, even when you look so kind, I still have no clue if its genuine, but you look so inviting under these lights.

—Camille Lee, falling into you

I've desired this 'strength' they've talked of all my life, too weak to cope, too fragile to hold my own and so sensitive. Versatility was something elusive to me and I can't find it in me to truly focus on what's happening around me, like watching a movie. Dazed, stumbling through a haze, going through the motions, ignoring the commotion taking place outside of my own destruction. Why wasn't I born with one of those 'strong personalities' my mother spoke of? Can't I create it from scratch? Kneed it like dough, bake it like cake, mold it from clay, carve it into and out of stone. Were some of you just born at home in your own skin? You look down your nose most assuredly, constantly at me, yet I still look for your empathy and understanding foolishly, hoping one day you'd finally see me.

—Camille Lee, strong personalities

He was the first guy, I tried the "talking stage" with. I told him slow, glacially slow, like a candle burning into the late hours of the night, but he didn't hear over his own wants, his own needs. It was part of the reason it was the end of our season, on his way out the door he broke my heart all over and I knew I dodged a bullet when his ego started talking. Suddenly, oh so suddenly, I wasn't worthy of someone like him. Suddenly my beauty was too little and there was something wrong with me, so much for "you're my ideal girl" because now apparently I "wasn't even that pretty" and my version of normal was a problem. The way I was, was a problem. You said if I'm not happy with you, I'll never find a boyfriend. At the mere age of twenty with so much life left to live ahead of me, did you really think that's what I'd believe? The audacity— to try to convince me I wasn't worth loving, if I didn't want to be with you. My only regret is I didn't laugh in your face, so much for the "talking stage."

—Camille Lee, you'll never find a boyfriend