I woke up today morning, and missed the sight of a pink building outside my window. The sun would be seeping in through gaps in the heavy curtain, the noise of faint traffic already floating through my window.

I stumble across the room, in search of a hot drink to wake up with. The mountains were covered with mist and looked blue in the distance. Everything was so sunny, so blue, so misty. It was always a morning for contemplation, for solitude and for peace.

The first thing I see now is the ceiling. Bleak walls. Bleak rooms. A mountain of clutter that I’m scared to sort and dig through. Every action brings a question to mind. A question that has no answer.

There are too many people everywhere I go and the music always seems too loud. Are we trying to drown out the voices in our head with such chaos?

I miss winter mornings of peace, of company with solitude, of silence but not echoes of silence. when the voices in my head would finally be at ease… least for a while. Of course, sometimes they silent for too long but that is a story for another day.

Words to be said remain unsaid, it is a fight to find a foothold everyday. What happened to that girl, I wonder, the one who had all the answers? Oh yes… those answers were wrong and so she died.

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