I lay on my bed with my head held by a pillow. Tears are dripping, falling from my eyes onto the freshly changed pillowcase drowning it in a small pool of tears. A heavy weight hangs upon my heart and somehow ends up spreading like poison all over my body. My soul feels like nothing it was before. Nothing like the carefree soul, the free soul, the optimistic soul it was before. And the reason of this all… well it’s quite simple. Something that’s supposed to feel comforting is making me feel like this, Something that’s supposed to be a safe haven now feels like a cage at this moment. And yet there’s none to blame for this except for the void of nothingness.

I look around my room, the room that’s supposed to be the embodiment of me and thus, a place that I truly feel right in. But right now, it feels like these very walls are closing in on me, like they’re constricting me. It feels like every passing second, my very safe haven is turning into a place of fear. It feels like my own room, my own house is turning into a trap that I’m setting myself into. I know what I want, I know how I can get it but yet, every try that I make to clutch that key of happiness that is so near to me, the further it drifts away. I know what I want and that is freedom. I want to fly free like the doves in the morning sky, roam all throughout and return to retire once the day is over. I want to be the embodiment of a free spirit. My heart screams it out to me every second. It tells me, “GO AND EXPERIENCE THE THRILL OF SOMETHING NEW, GO AND GRAB THAT MOMENT WHICH IS WAITING FOR YOU” but yet my limbs fall down, unmoving, already chained by constrictions put onto them. Constrictions that tell them where they want to go is where they cannot be alone. My soul cries out to me to go and explore the world and not be in this very place I’ve always been in but yet I can’t. 

I feel like a sculpture. A sculpture carved with all the perfect carvings but yet, filled with all flaws possible. I wish to go somewhere I’ve never been and I wish to be there, to experience that alone. I wish to be so in the moment that the calmness of my soul overrides the thrill of something new I have just to me. To travel this place alone, to have my own secret spots where I can go anywhere I wish to, to stay under the shade of a new tree everyday with a novel in my hand is all I want. What I want truly is an adventure within this world of routines, and not just to polish myself to be a better version. Those in my life are all that I could ever ask for. I have all the company except for the company of myself. To be free and fly in the winds of what I imagine as a small park of mahogany trees is what I need to be with me. The answer for me to be with me is so simple yet so unattainable. And this makes me a sculpture of company yet loneliness.