And it can be lonely inside but that is where I am most of the time. When I look outside through the little viewfinder, the world is big and threatening. As a result of which, I climb back into my shell and take with me whatever it is that I find soothing and safe. But the choices I make are always inaccurate. I invite disasters into my tiny hut. I am now sick because of that. I no longer know what to say and what to feel. I can't even tell if I know what love is other than it being a romantic concept.
As each second clocks by, I feel enclosed, entrenched and bound. By what, I don't know. I stop nearly all artistic expressions because I don't wan't to share. In fact, I feel that I refrain from truly loving because I can't locate more seeds to plant. I am barren, devoid of light.
I quit talking.
