The word of the week is sketch. The kind portrayed by things unknown; chaos entangled within peace. Fear, comfort, uncertainty, and that right there; polar opposition.
These days, I don't write much. Even if I wanted to, I'd be risking the exposure of my weakness that grows by the second. Thoughts are scattered in all directions, but the one I flee from most is the one that keeps appearing, slightly to the right of me. I've placed so much energy into constructing walls of safety, that it takes me by surprise as they crumble before me, transforming into nothingness.
In case you should wonder, I can feel your eyes resting on me; following me, and your impromptu appearances tend to shake me up more than the cold air that surrounds us. In case you've been wondering, I'm afraid of you because I'm falling, and everything makes sense in the realm of the unknown. In case you should wonder, your sketch has drawn me in.
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