When the familiar urge to close the door creeps in, withdrawal becomes my reflex—my sanctuary, where my absence leaves no ripple.
Buried beneath relentless deadlines and mounting uncertainties, I try to appear resilient. Channeling the recluse within often feels like my only way to survive. I yearn for a distant corner where I can just be with my thoughts.
Yet despite this need for isolation, I crave real connection—a way to share an unfiltered perspective of the world. It feels as though you can only choose one; playing a role is simply the price of acceptance.
So I press the keys, setting my fingers free. Once again, I start to breathe, click-clacking myself out of the congested air.
God may not have given me the voice to speak my deepest truths aloud, but He gave me the ability to transcribe them, and for that, I am grateful. Finding my way back to this safe space is a journey worth taking, and I am finally on my way home.
about the rain 