Truth was she was afraid of her
own mind, afraid of the mood tides, afraid of when it would all strike again.
She always loved the nights, the
piece and quite that would bring out the fantasy world, but they could also be
daunting. They were also were she couldn’t hide from herself, where she couldn’t
procrastinate and had to face all the thoughts she had managed to avoid during
the day.
Maybe that was why she would
always have trouble to fall asleep, because she would keep pushing things out
of her mind until she had no other choice, until she couldn’t stop her own mind,
not with laughs, not with music or stories, not with anything.
Truth was that when the day was
gone and the skies faded to black she was right back down that rabbit hole. Empty,
alone and lost.
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