There she was.
So scared. So fragile.
Unable to say a word.
All beaten down.
Unable to be herself.
Unable to say what she really meant.
So she went with it; she let it happen.
All of it.
All the bad; all the good.
‘Get that weight off your shoulders.’
‘Lift it.’ The shy voice inside her head continuously said.
‘One day, maybe.’ She replied back.
When she could; when she wanted to, she thought she would be able to.
‘Any day now’ She told herself. She carried on.
She was the waves in her ocean.
Wild. Without thought; without any direction.
But that glorious day never came.
She was still the same.
Same old, same old.
Not herself, not pretty.
Unable to paint.
She was what she was.
A nasty mush.
A shadow in the dark.