There are wonderful things waiting to be discovered in this world. Simplicity is often laced with beauty. Imagine a day when one dips one’s fingers in a clear lake on a warm, breezy summer day. There, one is free to dip her fingers nonchalantly into the waters of her emotions. No one can judge her out there on the water, and no one can know her thoughts as she lazily floats, suspended in her island of emotions. Like our thoughts, our emotions navigate a path that leads right to our souls. What sort of creatures would we be without the workings of the mind? 

Eventually, she must return to land. She cannot stop time forever out there on the water. And once her foot meets the sand, control harnesses itself around her once again. She bows down to the command of societal appearance. She falls to the authority of her own nature. She forces her own will on herself as a master in the art of self-repression. When others look up, she casts her eyes downward. We all doubt ourselves. What we may appear to be to others is subjective to each individual, and we are always the ones who think the worst of ourselves.

Still, she remains a woman, and therefore she must love. But the coils of repression spring forth from her heart, and bind her to her self-made image. She will take on the habits she sees in those she wishes to please. She does not speak if there is no response. And here she is, drowning in her own emotions while she can only try speaking to the ones who cannot hear. She is not to blame for this. Unresponsiveness breeds indifference. Her chords of loyalty drown out any music of love in her heart; not yet has she felt its soft, warm notes. She is a woman who sees only reflections and hears only echoes. She waits, but no one yet has come. Not one will rescue her from the crumbling chambers of her heart. At least, not yet.