Dark. Void. Solitary. Tranquil. Silent. Alone.

Tired, here am I, under the shimmering starlight, by the open windows, finally writing after a period of silence. I am alone. Something is in my mind, bugging me, this feeling is not unusual, as it happens many times. Somehow, I fail to identify the thought that has always been in my head, it is unknown. Is it even possible to be bothered by nothing?

I am perfectly fine, but my assurance is often welcomed by disbelief. I am flooded by skepticism, doubts, questions, I can't breathe, I can't see, I am weak. Right after these came care and concern, shoving me to a corner like bullies, pressing on me with violation. Utterly confused of what had happened, I woke up. There is a problem.

Isn't love supposed to be warm? Shouldn't concern be sweet and comforting, like the fragrance of roses, or the smile of sunflowers?

Feel them with a heart of stone, and they shall never bloom. Touch them with a simple, naive and naked soul, you will see them blossom. It is so plain, yet so prone to complication, easily tangled and convoluted. Humans can be so stupid when it comes to these, only time can make them realize.

In the dark, we see. When alone, we ponder. With time, we understand. Foolish, aren't we?