Blank. Dark. Red with embarrassing moments. Blue with rivers of tears. Yellow blotches of moments of total loss of control. Mostly black, for every emotion I've had, every moment in my life, that I've tried to erase, tried to forget. No matter how hard I try, it is impossible for me to erase the past, impossible to delete from my mind all those broken yesterdays. The kind of memories you think about at night, when there is no noise, no one to distract you, with only the silence to remind you. So, instead, there are black-outs in my mind, my memories are there, but they are hidden beneath black numbness, the very best I could do. This prison is my mind; these colors, this rainbow of pain, they are what have locked me inside myself. There are bars here, to keep me inside, chains too, keeping me tied down, and there is even a door. The door is big, and wooden, the kind you might open when you walk into an old church. But I do not know where this door leads, or what will happen if I open it. I am not brave enough to open this door. I would rather stay locked inside my prison than to be thrust into a world unknown. What I need is a window. A small one, with a blind. I want to be able to look outside my prison, and see if there is something better out there for me. I want to be able to close the blind when I see an abundance of amazing things, like love, because I know that I'll never have that perfect love. And I want to close the curtain against all the evils I have not had to face, because I have felt enough pain for a while. And I want to be able to open the window a crack, and see how the wind of freedom feels against my face, taste the air, feel it fill me up. If there was a window in my prison, I might be able to look out, and see something different than these four dark walls. Maybe I would be able to find a purpose, a meaning to it all. Then again, I'm not sure if you can get all that from a window. Four pieces of wood, a piece of glass; that is what I want to be my salvation. The chance to see what change would be like, before leaping into the great unknown. Because, obviously, the problem with leaping into the great unknown, is the chance of falling and becoming lost in the new strange land. Of course, I am lost in this world that I know, too. Completely lost in a world that I've always lived in, but can't seem to understand. A world that I inhabit, but don't actually belong in. I guess no matter how much we hide, how often we choose not to open the door, how many days we spend wishing for a window, chance and pain and opportunity will find us, some how. And, I suppose, that no matter how long we spend locked up, there is always a chance that what we see out the window will someday become what we have all around us.