Eyes, a fine misty blue, tears streaming in clear lines. A surface covered in frost from my freezing soul. A cosmic language is exchanged between me and the lines that I've crossed to be standing here before myself. My true self. The one that knows why I hide during the day, am awake at night, and can't seem to think of the words I want to say or why I write the ones I write. The pen is her conduit into the real world. This is her speaking now, unafraid of anything. I only pray that I can stay this way just a bit longer now. Long enough to get everything out.