I feel like a fugitive in my abode. From the sounds of birds chirping in the morning to the cicadas whispering secrets in the darkness of the night, I am trapped in my mind. I do not despise my solitary routine but am not fond of the loneliness that grows from within.
I write I read, I paint and draw but no matter how hard I try, the day never seems to end at all. Boredom overtakes my day and then my overthinking mind rewinds memories to over-analyze every single moment. But I am an introvert. I like being inside my mind, silences, and me time. Alas, I have come to realize the importance to have the freedom of choice, to be able to decide.
I do realize I am privileged. I have food to eat and shelter to stay in, but I cannot help but feel suffocated within these concrete walls. This is why I write, now I will read, paint and draw but no matter how hard I try, the day never seems to end at all.
The Black Caterpillar 