belonging.

She had lately cut down contact with half of her friends because she was confusing everyone. Now things were a little clearer, a little simpler, a little less. Now, the denial that she used to shield herself with was fast deteriorating. Her comfort circle were 2 hours and a weekend away and she was arguably alone. So, she turned up the music and danced. Her pen gliding on gingerly lined empty pages. Her lens freezing the portrait of sunlight's neglect upon her neighbourhood.

Meanwhile, the delicate pages of a historic love story called her to let go of loneliness' hand. There was only purposefulness (or lack thereof) between victory and depression. The sad song, lamented beautifully on repeat- singing hinting harmonies "...with you is where I belong"; repeatedly pressing onto memories of previous strengths, nudging her to step into puddles of courage and feel the relief of balance, of supported position, of identity.

I belong to you.
I know.
I do.

I know too well the deception of my circumstance and it's hallucination of incompleteness (I just forget). I also know that others fall victim to this loneliness and its related depression all too frequently. So I'll do what I can to counter it. I am not helpless. I am not. I belong, and you do too.

"Back off loneliness and, hello tenderness. I've been waiting for your call..."
If it rains, it is for you to dance to. If the sun shines, it is for you to bask in.
If neither, the weather was shy because you are beautiful.