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prinamarie · 1 day ago

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If I were Carrie Bradshaw:

"As I sat in my cozy new apartment, surrounded by the quiet hum of a life in transition, I couldn't help but wonder: How do we know when it's time to let go of the past... and when it's time to hold on for dear life?"

Prina was living in the space between “what was” and “what could be.” By day, she juggled a whirlwind of administrative tasks for the City of Cambridge — balancing spreadsheets, meeting agendas, and the ever-present quest for something more fulfilling. By night, she found herself dreaming of a life that sparkled with possibility, a life where love, career, and purpose intertwined seamlessly like the perfect cocktail at a swanky bar.

And then, there was him — Eric. Her Florida boy. The one who'd seen her heart, left, and kept coming back, like the tide pulling her closer with every wave. Their story was anything but simple — love letters written between states, late-night texts.

It was a classic tale of love with no clear ending. Were they destined for happily ever after, or just happily right now? She knew what she wanted — him. But the universe had a funny way of testing even the strongest hearts.

"And maybe that's the thing about love," I thought to myself, typing furiously at my laptop. "It's not about perfect timing or clear answers. It's about believing in the magic, even when the odds aren't in your favor."

Prina was a woman who believed in that magic. She wasn’t waiting to be saved — she was writing her own fairytale. But deep down, she knew that in the story of her life, Eric would always be a chapter she couldn’t close.

And as I lit a candle for Tino & babs..hopefully a puppy like Maya (someday), I realized that maybe, just maybe, the most important love story we write is the one we tell ourselves.

"Because in the end, love isn't just about finding someone who completes you — it's about finding the courage to believe that some stories aren't finished yet."

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prinamarie · 5 days ago

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Actually, I Am Like Other Girls

Taylor Swift was my top artist on Spotify, and I miss everyone I’ve ever met. Espresso martinis, sleeping in mascara, cutting my own hair and immediately regretting it. Long nights with my friends, glitter in the air, and Alice Hoffman books stacked by my bed — magic and nostalgia wrapped up together like old letters.

Here are the supermarket flowers in the kitchen, here are my shaking hands clenched into fists. Every life I’ve lived is fragmented like a kaleidoscope — one million shards of light, rearranged when the world tilts a little.

Tried heatless curls; did not succeed. I’m always chasing that feeling of a summer drive with Noah Kahan’s voice in the background — something familiar, something lost.

Sometimes I suck at parking. Sometimes the only thing I can think about is every time I should have been louder. My greatest enemy is my seventeen-year-old self.

Let’s open a bookshop. Let’s go live in the forest, leave everything behind. I’ll never speak to you again, but I’ll think about you every day.

I’ve been really into bows lately. I sit in the shower until the water runs cold. I read books about dragons and sex — and sometimes the two things combined?

When asked what I’m grateful for, I say getting older. When asked my biggest fear, I say the same thing.

I can’t shake the sensation that I’m wasting something. Time, or talent, or ink, or all of it. Like my potential is glaring over its shoulder, shaming me for not being wiser, or kinder, or better — or just for not believing in a little more magic.

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prinamarie · 5 days ago

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Better Than This.

I hadn’t written in ages — Back then, my thoughts lived in chaos, Each year feeling weird in its own exhausting way. Problems I carried like weights on my back, Only to realize later they were mine alone — Fake, imagined, self-created storms.

I thought I could fix everything. Save myself, save others. But I couldn’t even save me. Every day, my mind felt like it was breaking, Moods crashing, thoughts spiraling, Leaving me trapped in a cycle of self-loathing.

I wasn’t myself. I hated who I was becoming — The anger, the frustration, The mean streak I couldn’t shake. I used to know who I was, Used to dream of being someone kinder, brighter. But that version of me felt distant, Like a ghost I couldn’t reach.

When I got upset, Words stuck like thorns in my throat. Thoughts would form, Only to burst like bubbles before I could speak. I shut down, Floating above myself, watching from a distance — Helpless, haunted, Angry at my own inability to be better.

I hated myself. For my actions. For my silence. For hurting the people I loved With every irrational outburst, Every distant stare.

I tried — Therapists, endless nights sobbing into my pillow, Begging myself to change. But I felt absent, Like a shadow of the person I once was, And every day, That self-hatred spilled out of me, Onto everyone around me.

I wanted to change. So badly it hurt.

And now — I look back at her, At me, And see how far I’ve come. She was lost. But I’ve found pieces of her again.

It’s not perfect — It never will be. But I’m softer now, Kinder to myself. I no longer hover above like a ghost — I’m here, in my body, Living, thriving.

The storms are quieter. The mean streak has faded. And the hatred? I’ve let most of it go.

I see now how irrelevant so much of it was. But what a journey it’s been, To fall apart And slowly, piece by piece, Come back together.

I was better than this, And now, I am better again.

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prinamarie · 2 years ago

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What a wild fucking thing.

I’ve been here before — Full circle, spinning like a scratched record, And every time I think I’ve moved past it, I find myself back in the same damn story. The faces change, the years blur, But somehow, it’s still him. Always him.

Maj was heartbreak once — Now, he’s my best friend. Funny how time reshapes pain into something softer. Before him, there was chaos: An abusive blur of nights I can't fully recall, Hiding from my first heartbreak — The one that pulled me back to this city, Back to my roots, Back to everything I know.

And Zachary? God, what a name to still taste on my tongue After all these years. Thirteen? Fifteen? I’ve thought of him at least ten times a month, Every month. Wondering if he ever thought of me. Spoiler: He didn’t.

When we reconnected — Of course, it was Facebook, The graveyard of old ghosts. One drink, one night, And I was sixteen again, Heart pounding, hands shaking, Throwing up in the bar bathroom, Because closure wasn’t coming. Instead, I found butterflies and desire Where peace should have been.

I thought I had control. I thought I’d close the chapter. But there I was — His hands on me, His smirk unraveling every wall I built. I let him in again. Inside me, inside my heart, inside my fucking soul. And it felt so good. I hated it. I loved it.

It’s sick, isn’t it? This hold he has on me. Since I was a teenager, He’s been tearing me apart. I swore it wouldn’t happen again. But it did.

And Johnny? Let’s not forget him. Five years of weekends shattered, Five years of his secrets — While I sat there, forgiving, forgetting, Until I became him. The version of him I hated the most.

He cheated on me from the start. And I stayed. I stayed while he destroyed me piece by piece. Until I didn’t know who I was anymore. Until I became the girl Who ran back to Zachary Because it was easier than looking in the mirror And facing what I’d become.

I cheated on Johnny with Zachary — In every way a person can cheat. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. And Johnny knew. He let it happen. Maybe he stopped loving me long before I realized.

And Zachary? He’s gone again. I hear from him almost never. But I miss him every second. It’s fucking sickening, isn’t it? To crave someone who ruins you.

I’m here again, Broken again. Wondering if this cycle will ever end. Spoiler: It won’t.

Because I will always miss him. I will always love him. And I’ll always wonder what he’s doing, Even knowing he’ll never give me the answers I need to let go.

What a wild fucking thing. What a pathetic fucking thing.

And yet — I’m still here. Living. Thriving. In a life that feels lighter now, But carries the weight of all the people Who built me, broke me, And left me wondering Why I ever cared so much.

What a wild fucking thing. To survive it all And still stand here, Pink nails and all, still choosing Magic everyday.

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prinamarie · 5 years ago

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