still

I remember a distinct period of life when I felt so much pain that I began to draw and write intensively. I kept a notebook of thoughts which were matched closely to my drawings. I planned to bind it into a book for my personal collection when I was done with the whole healing process. 

But I never made it to the last page. 

It wasn't a bad thing, anyhow, since my urge to work on the notebook receded as the pain subsided. 

Lately that same urge that had prompted me to create that notebook has resurfaced. I am feeling a lot of things I cannot explain and that tears cannot purge and talking about it does not help. I cannot rely on external sources anymore. I have to look deep within myself, and draw out whatever strength is left of me to help myself out.

This is probably why I am flipping the pages of my notebook and turning to this space again - my personal refuge.