Here she is, in the safety of her room. Yet, she doesn’t know just how safe she really is within these walls that surround her. I’m in a box, she thinks.

Here she sits, the exhaustion from the past few days unaccounted for, just simply forgotten. In the quiet stillness of the night, words just seem to flood her mind. Yes, words; random words just floating through the recesses of her mind. Pungent. Strength. Silence. Words just floating in, then suddenly dissipating, as if they were never there to begin with.

A book lays open beside her, the pages slowly drooping down, as if alive, with a mind of their own, with their own agenda, mirroring the emotions written all over her own face.

She sits, unmoving, and yet inside her, it is the complete opposite. She knows of the emotions trapped inside her, swirling in a seemingly endless vortex. What she doesn’t know is how to label them. What is it a vortex of, exactly? Confusion? Emptiness? Contentment? All of the above?

Compared to how it was years ago when she wanted to die, not seeing the purpose of her life, not realizing that the adventure lies in living, not solely existing — this is a vast improvement. But could this all be just another low in the ups and downs of life? All these questions remain unanswered and all her emotions remain unresolved.

All she’s left with tonight is the achingly damp loneliness. All she wants is peace of mind — no pain or anguish or happiness to feel. No thoughts crowding her mind. Because then and only then, it seems the world rights itself and the silence actually seems bearable.

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