Hidden

She needed a story.

A third person one; to reveal her inner struggles. She had to describe it as though the pain was not hers, but someone else's. Someone inanimate to her; a creation of similarities so she could relate to someone-

So that she was not alone.

How she hated the solitude at that; just the word itself was rigid enough that she could feel it in her bones. All the thoughts that would prick her mind then, in her state of loneliness, truly haunted her. They transformed her happily distracted spirit into a blank canvas, and began with each prick to add specks of ink-

Black and endless in shade.

Then would come the drips of red, and strokes of color, all alike in darkness. She was hidden in this way, when she was in

The dark.

She was hidden in her own art, in her own stories. And she had to hide, for fear of the true self being uncovered. She had to keep secret that her identity

is mine.