Sweeping the floors, dusting the shelves, painting the walls, opening up the blinds and the windows. The energy pulsated all around, cutting through the drab aura of the home just long enough for her to consider fixing it up. But every time she walked the hall she would catch a glimpse of the bright light escaping through the crack underneath the door. Like an old folktale, the colorful room terrified her to the point she would just rather pretend it wasn’t there. She hadn’t ventured into that room in quite some time and the longer she stayed away, the scarier it became. The walls were colorless, except for one room at the end of the hall. Her worries hidden under her bed, creeping out just when she finally felt relaxed enough to close her eyes. Her fears, doubts and insecurities stuffed into an old cardboard box and tucked away in a dark corner somewhere, mostly out of sight but always nearby. Her memories like trophies on a shelf, giving the dim room a false sense of accomplishment and comfort. She didn’t have much but the things she did have stashed around this home were extremely valuable to her. The light came through sparingly and didn’t do much except illuminate the dust that seemed to be everywhere. Alone in her head was where she felt most vulnerable but at the same time it was the only real place she could call home.
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