Heavy thoughts always ran through my mind at night. The moon made me sentimental as if my heart leaped from my chest in soft skips and jumping from the safety of the desk. My thoughts ran marathons inside my skull as my mind became the tired friend begging to slow down and take a break. My eyes were the sore sights as waterfalls fell from my chin into my blanket covered lap.

I was my own captor held within my cell by sheer force. My body was weighted steel which welded to the bed frame from the heat of my skin. I felt the shackles of my depression bound me to my sadness with a chain that had no destination.

I sat up slowly, my mind becoming dizzy to the unfamiliar sensation of being upright with the intention of not going to the bathroom only to lay back down.

I sat down in a foreign landscape that most call a desk. The unfamiliar sight of the surface intimidated me before I saw my window to a new light, my notebook.

My notebook was my best friend. The book knew all my secrets but would tell none. The book knew all my quirks but would never judge. The book knew all my stories and remembered every word of every single one.

I flipped to an empty page which resembled a baby. It was a new life soon going to be built upon the words anyone says. The page was delicate yet still held their grudge against the world.

My pen was the door to the house the notebook held. My pen allowed my words to express my feelings freely. The words left the world with only a small and sudden command.

My emotions flooded me in merciless tsunamis that destroyed the rice paddies of comfort. I never was able to bottle them up as the burden becomes too heavy and the glass shatters from too much pressure.

Words were merely words to me. No meaning backed up the sentences that slid from my mouth in noodles. I didn't have the gold to put worth behind my promises I made nor the glue and determination to hold them together.

i held the string of the curtain
i needed the courage to pull
to pull the push door
i sucked my breath in
collected all the air i could possibly get
i yanked on the fragile yarn
praying it wouldn't snap
i squinted at the obscene light
the sun blared its music into my room
the ray set shadows that invited themselves
to lay on my bed as i stood dazed
the drawn curtains pushed a melancholy story
a story only to be told in whispers of foreign voices
i felt a sensation slither up my body
shivers bite my spine as i stared at the outside world
the curtains were now drawn back
a story to be screamed
from the rooftops of the highest buildings
i happily pushed my glowing skin against the glass
i left my fingerprints along the clear barrier
i danced around my room as my shadow copied me
i finally made a friend during the day
the night was to have my darkness
but the day i was the one to shine
dance with my shadow in happy skips

I set my pen down softly on the desk as I stood up and pushed my fingers against the lock of the window. With shaky hands, I slid the lock away from me and sat on my bed, trembling.

With baby steps, I was to open the window another day. I would taste the fresh air in my lungs another time. The other time would be when I was ready. Whether that would be tomorrow or next week. I am the one who will determine the day that would happen. No one would be the one to rush me and force me to open myself up to the cruel world. That was on my call.