The cherry blossoms are a thing to be celebrated with family and friends and food and laughter, and yet, I think I want to be alone this year. I want to sit and sip beneath the trees in reverent silence and let myself see only what She wants me to see.
The doctor scribbled away on his clipboard: anxiety, mental health unstable, irritable, illogical, blah blah blah... Prescription: placebo.
I have been lost for so long in the haze of teenage angst that one might think that I don't even know how to function in society anymore. Surprise; I am still a functional human being with my petty human desires and minuscule human values and tedious human dreams of grandeur.
Sensory overload, but it feels incredible. I can see everything and I can hear all. Colours bloom intermittently and unceasingly and instantly. Music sounds and resounds at a speed with which no sound and all sound can be heard.
The painting is splattered in deep colours — black, red, grey — that appear to struggle fruitlessly against the stark white canvas.
The wind whistles past the deep purple flowers, complimenting their silent visual music.
Not all memories are of monumental moments; so many of mine are mere snippets of my life, irrelevant to all but myself.