when you’ve been in captivity so long,
you forget what outside looks like.
you start to make yourself comfortable in your cage;
it starts to feel like home.

when the door becomes unlocked and you have the chance to leave...
you hesitate.
outside is scary,
it is not a place you are used to.
it is not a place you can call home.

sadness is like that cage, and i, its prisoner;
the lock is broken and i can leave anytime i want,
so why do i still linger here?

i am not comfortable being happy.
it used to be something i craved, something i longed for everyday...
to finally feel the sun on my skin and have it mean something.

but i am at home here.
here in the darkness,
in the cage i have grown to love.
a cage that is mine and mine only

for so long i thought i just wanted to be happy.
i glorified it, the contentment.
i thought once i achieved it everything would be okay,
i never expected myself to want to run away from okay.

but here i am.
i do feel happier than i have in a very long time,
but i feel uneasy,
i feel insecure,
i feel unstable.

joy is like an undiscovered country for me and i am experiencing culture shock.
i feel like a fraud,
an outsider trying to blend in...
but i don’t know the mannerisms,
i don’t know the language,
i don’t know how to exist in this world.

i look forward to the day that i am truly at ease.
when my feelings exist in harmony, instead of against one another.
when i can build a new life in my bliss,
and have a new place to call home.

the night is most comfortable with itself at 3 am;
when the quiet is the only thing to see,
and the darkness the only thing to hear.
it is an illumination of peace,
an orchestrated sequence of silence.

a person is most vulnerable at night;
when words dance in the air like lovers at a ball,
and actions seem as powerful as the bodies making them.
it is a reawakening of the soul,
an unexpected baptism of emotion.

this is when i know you best;
in the middle of the night, at 3 am,
when everything is nothing
and we can only hear our breaths and heartbeats,
our bodies pressed together
almost as if they were meant to be molded into each other.

this is how it should be;
you,
and me,
alone for hours
because

i am most at ease when i am with you;
when you tangle my hair between your fingers,
and whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
it is a safe haven for me,
an unofficial place to call home.

i guess i should say thank you,
because you make love so easy.
everytime you hold me close,
it's like a breath of fresh air
and after what felt like drowning for so long,
i'm happy to be able to breathe again.

i used to see the world in grey,
few things ever appeared in color;
i was desperately searching for a way to paint my surroundings,
but none of the pigments ever came out right.

there are days where i see rainbows everywhere,
rainbows in a puddle, in a car, even in an old lady’s hair...

but the grey always has a way of creeping in again.

it is not easy to plug a spilled bottle of paint back up,
it gets messy;
it gets in your hair, on your hands...
and even after you’ve washed it all away, you can still see it under your fingernails.
the grey has a way of sticking like that, too.

for so long i felt i would never be able to see things the way they truly are,
my vision has been compromised with a permanent filter
but i stopped minding it that much.
the unusual becomes normal when it is all you know.