It's been seven years writing here.Today I picture my tranquil self lying in a coffin ready for its cremation. What will be of this page. Will I be remembered for who I really am and how I have treated all those that have crossed my path. Would they know what I was trying to narrate.

The difficulty in emotions is honesty. Even now. My hands are tied and my mouth gagged. Writing helps me forget yet remember the delicate scars as I fumble around the pages. What is it am I searching for. Will we get the answer?