i’ll be turning a year older soon and still, my mind is clouded with so many thoughts. insecurities are surfacing; loneliness has come knocking on my door again. i haven’t let her in but somehow, she found a way like how an old friend knows every corner of you. it’s good to be alone and i like the peace and quiet that comes with it—i just didn’t think i would feel its very essence. i don’t say anything not because no one has ever asked, but because i fear that if a word slips off my mouth, all of them would overflow and i wouldn’t be able to stop. if i can’t bear and withstand my storms, will anyone ever? even the dark and the silence are no longer a friend to me. in the process of repainting myself; i have lost myself. i am nothing but a blank canvas, wishing i could swallow a yellow paint.