I'm particular on who I open my doors to because I'm afraid that if my fortress reaches over-capacity, I would have to throw someone out and they would feel the same thing I have felt on repeat; loneliness, tremor, solitude, ones that I swore I would never want to feel again but ironically dealing with it right now. It's also the very reason why I open my windows for all the people I've thrown out and didn't let in; to let them know that beyond my impulsive reactions are my hands that I can stick out the window. And if not that, a reminder that they were too good for me. Because I don't try. I give up too easily and I let go too frequently. I am a warehouse of feelings dark and uncertainty. I am weak. And even in a a houseful, I'm lonely. But in this refineness, I have found the silence. The silence in which I found the noise in, one that screams actual sense. In this refineness, now I call my choice of confinement, the mask of a skin I call can be peeled off without seeming effort. No more lies. No more fake smiles. And I swear, I've never been a caged bird all my life but for once, I felt free. That's a good thing, I guess. Thanks be to God.
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