Something I wrote when I was feeling down.
Lost and all alone, the girl wanders spinning dizzily in the darkness. No one enters her little world, her little bubble, and she doesn't dare leave. She has grown used to the blackness and feels comfort in being alone, but there are days when melancholy strikes her heart. She realizes what it is that is missing in her life, but she's too scared to do anything about it.
So she pushes those lugubrious thoughts away and pretends that they're not there. But they are there and every so often they pop back to the brink of her consciousness. They have started to recur more and more frequently lately and the girl's in anguish, torn between comfort and the unknown, but too trepidatious to do anything about it.
So she stays by herself fighting these feelings, ripping her own heart open anew each day.
Eventually instead of traveling in the dark, the girl sits in the corner, knees curled up to her head and cries bitter tears. Day after day she's alone, but always wondering why- why can't she reach out a hand into the light? Why does fear strike her heart every time she dares utter a word? And most importantly- why doesn't anyone reach a hand into the darkness?Must she be forever alone? Is there something wrong with her?
So there she sits, alone, lost, depressed, and conflicted. Wishing someone would reach a hand in or she could stretch her hand out, yet afraid of the very thing she wants the most.