Within labrynthine hallways buried deep in my mind, my thoughts weave an tapestry. Some are cradled close, cherished pieces that shape the edges of my inner world. They echo in the hush of night. They tell me about the people I once knew, and the people who still do.

There are thoughts that linger at a distance, like wisps on the periphery of my consciousness. Delicate and fleeting, they avoid me, their presence felt in only in silence. These thoughts could kill.

Then, there are thoughts withheld, unsaid words that die within, yearning for release. They fly in the spaces between my breaths, their wings brushing against my lips. These unspoken truths are what could've been, what should've been.

In this delicate dance of thoughts, a balance between concealment and what I gave. Like worn pages of a cherished book, some thoughts are ones I love, while others remain whispers waiting to be yelled. Maybe one day, I'll yell as loud as I can, into the mountains. I want to be loved. I want them to cherish me, hold me as tight as they can, and never let me go. But these wishes float away, every night and every day.

Maybe one day.