I write to comfort the anxiety inside me. I find this what works best for me, in which I find peace and tranquility. Often, my words are an explanatory of my feelings, or at least a scene behind the unseen. Yet, the heart of mine is a very complex cloth of blood that mercilessly tickles me every now and then.
I have probably foreseen the future yet I decided to take the risk, once again. I myself do not know what would stop me, or even pause me. How am I able to bear such feeling and anxiety throughout these years. How I able to firmly stuck in this vicious cycle over and over again.
Will it be a day where I manage to break the wall and run through ?