It’s 2025
A new year,
New promises, new dreams.
But all I see is an empty canvas—
Not one brimming with potential,
But one haunted by shadows,
A faint echo of what it once was.

I long for the days
When the future felt vast and bright,
When my dreams danced like sparks in the dark,
And the stars were mine to paint.
Back then, the canvas whispered,
“Anything is possible.”

But now, the stars are distant,
Surrounded by the toll of their brilliance.
The cost of creation weighs heavy—
Brushes worn thin, colors faded,
And I wonder, is it worth it?

Still, I hold my breath,
Hoping to believe again.
I ache to feel that spark,
To trust that what I do matters.
To dream beyond the confines of what I am told
And step into a world of boundless skies.

I remember a time when I lived beyond the canvas.
When my hands held the power to create worlds—
Purple trees, cloud-birds soaring free,
Waves of color defying reason,
Each stroke a rebellion,
Each moment a masterpiece.

But now,
The rules have tightened around me,
Defining what I can and cannot paint.
Confining my imagination,
Strangling the voice within my brush.

Yet it’s 2025,
A new year,
And I dare to dream again.
This year, I will break the rules.
I will shatter the frame.
I will paint not just on the canvas
But beyond its edges,
Onto the walls, the sky, the stars.

This year, I will reclaim my brush,
Mixing colors no one has ever seen,
Creating worlds only I can imagine.
Because the canvas is not a limit;
It’s a beginning.

I am a painter,
And I am the creator of my story.
It’s 2025,
And the stars are waiting.

Hello, my old friend,
It’s me. You know me well, don’t you? After all, you’ve been living within me, feeding on my doubts and hiding in the deepest shadows of my thoughts. I’ve denied your existence for too long, and I’ve given you far too much. You’ve crept into every corner of my life, turning my sleep into restless battles. You appear in my nightmares as a shadowy figure, granting me permission to live in your world while you claim ownership of everything—my home, my children, myself. Am I supposed to feel grateful for this?
You’ve made yourself quite comfortable in my world, dictating what I own, where I stay, what I say, and even how I dream. When I wake, the reality of your presence hits me like an icy wave, drowning me with the weight of your power. And yet, here I am, trying once again to pull my head out of water and to put into words the grip you have on me. We’ve done this dance before, haven’t we? You push my head down too far this time, and I refuse to relent.
Let me make this clear: you’re a pest. You’re the shapeless monster that chased me in childhood dreams, the one that kept my feet weighed down with leaded concrete as I tried to run. You’re the unseen force that breaks my heart and spins my mind in circles. But what are you, really? Are you a shadowy stranger pushing me toward growth, or just a figment of my mind, feeding on my uncertainties?
I’ve spent too long trying to define you, to understand why you scare me so. Is it because you’re imperceptible, living just beyond my view? Or is it because confronting you means risking everything? Perhaps it’s time I stop trying to define you and start challenging you instead. Let me start again.
Hello, Fear.
It’s me again, challenging you. You’ve become a basilisk in my life—a predator slithering through the shadows of my subconscious. Your gaze petrifies me, as though my every step might shatter into ruin beneath your weight. I’ve tried to avoid you, to pretend you’re not there, hoping that ignorance might weaken you. But you’re cunning, aren’t you? You thrive in the corners of my denial, growing stronger with every moment I refuse to look directly at you.
You’ve made yourself at home in my life, coiled around my dreams and my days, squeezing the air from my ambitions. I am left in the cold void, your presence a weight I carry long after the terror fades.
But I see you now for what you are. You’re not invincible. A creature of the earth, bound by the same rules that govern everything else. You move silently, planting your roots, spreading your poison like ivy through the cracks of my foundation. You’ve sown seeds of doubt in my mind, daring me to leave them unchecked, daring me to let your vines grow until they strangle everything I’ve worked so hard to build.
Yet I know your secret, Basilisk. Your power isn’t in your form—it’s in the fear you inspire. If I can stand before you and meet your gaze, I can shatter the illusion of your strength.
I’ve faced you before, and though you’ve taken much from me, you’ve never won. I remember the woman I was at twenty-five, with two small children and a heart full of determination. I walked out of your lair then, leaving behind everything you held over me. I stepped into a small apartment that was mine, utterly mine, free of your coils for the first time. It was terrifying. I lost so much. Yet, in that moment, I found something you could never possess love.
I met your gaze, and though the weight of your presence lingered, I proved to myself that I could survive.
So why should I let you win now? Why should I let you coil tighter around me when I’ve already broken free of you once? You may have taken advantage of my complacency over the years, but that brave girl I was hasn’t vanished. She’s still within me, waiting for me to listen. She will take my hand and say, “We’ve got this. We’ll do better for them.” She’ll point to my children, reminding me of the strength I drew from them the last time I faced you.
This is my promise: I will no longer let you hide in the shadows. I will pull you into the light. I will confront you, strip you of the power you’ve claimed, and show you that you are nothing without me—you will vanish.
I’ll keep moving, not because I’m fearless, but because I refuse to let you win.
Farewell, Fear,
Me

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