It’s an endless cycle. These words. These feelings. Black paint spread across my face hides the truth that lays beneath. You were once beautiful, shining like no other, illuminating every room you sat within. Now the room has fallen dark, and you only get glimpses of the sun through cracks in your mask. You’ve began to lose hope. The door sits, waiting for you. But you do not trust the journey towards it because you can’t see it clearly. It’s an endless cycle. These doubts. These fears.