There is a story of a girl. One of woe. One of sadness. Of fairy tails and happiness. Of protective walls and safe proximities. She lives in a place. A small, tiny place. This place is lonely but there is no other escape. She dwells here most of her life, because no one knows how to find her. She is lost in this place. She is abandoned in this place. She lives in her world where reality meets fantasy. How can she tell the difference between the two?
Her mind is her refuge, where no one can hurt her. No one can touch her. Is she insane? Perhaps.
She hesitates at the word love. Such a small word for such a large impact. She is confused of the meaning. It has been warped over the years. Love is a weapon. The deadliest. It is invisible but more lethal than a nucleur bomb.
Love is a hushed word that she pushes out of her mind many times.
She listens to her music, letting it drown out the world. She listens to the silent caress of the piano. Timid yet electrifying. She does not think of it as an instrument, but something even more. It is another world she can escape to.
She loves escaping.
Books, music, writing, listening, watching, playing, talking, swimming, running, sleeping. There are so many worlds to pick from.
She thinks one day she will need to face reality.
She thinks one day she might.
Over the years she lets down some walls. Lets others at least detect her. After all, no one can stand being as lonely as her. They do not understand her. But they accept her.
It's all she asks.
She continues on, living in her small, precious and fragile world. She is cautious. Because one word can crumble it into pieces.
Her world consists of mostly thoughts. Thoughts of things out of her reach. In her reach. Things that are almost reachable. It's a cycle she fiddles with. It's a cycle that is familar. It's a cycle she is comfortable with. It is her home.
But she is trapped. Because no one has found her.