The path is within.

[people generally think blue eyes are pretty, but his were not.
they were not cornflower, sky, baby, indigo, azure. his were iceberg, squall, hypothermia, eventual death.]

Our souls do what they do best. Speak fluently in silence.

the drip drap of the rain velociously continued, like a pony nipping her head out of a stable
As the right handed, fraudulent farm girl hid behind a baby porcupine like stack of hay bails that looked like they could fall at any moment
She must have assumed the farmer had  a hearing impediment as she was mumbling quite loudly to herself
'and aliens are green' 'and people are purple' and 'the queen is beige.'

This was why she was hiding, as the factorious, bimble, self serving others were all aliens.
Any time she went someplace new she felt like there was a steaming kettle of atmosphere blended with ideas carrying and following her from step to step.

And she had no answers that but simple truths.

'hey kid, get outta here!'

Her voice had increased from mumbling to screaming the word 'that'.

- And she was gone.

Is it really

Depression

If you can acknowledge

That you're not ok?

Is it really

Denial

If you know why

It turned out this way?

Is it really

Anxiety

If you have a

Valid reason to worry?