Stuff to get out of my chest | A ghost

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She is a fragile being. Her oldest memory is a scary bat hanging on the roof over her baby crib, and that is not a metaphor although it could be.

As a kid, her predilect activity was to read, because it meant making new bonds and knowing beautiful places. Too bad it had to vanish once the last page had turned.

She is all grown up now and still uses words as paint on a living canvas. Well, mostly its absence, to cover the painful scenes from other people's sight. With black.

There are days where she can't stand human interactions. Her brain fills with an insurmountable static. She hasn't found a way to make the noise go.

She is the girl that hasn't been able to follow her mom's advice. Don't ever go to sleep crying. At night, alone, there isn't much she can do to help it.

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^{This entity I call a she has always been a part of me. I carry her in my chest.
And sometimes she has to get out.}