Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out.

It's a summer night, the sky closes in to swallow another day, and I can feel the sun kissing my back as I walk slowly down this desolate beach. The sand scratches in between each of my toes as I curl them slowly back and forth. The smell of the sea is fresh, and the breeze that flows from it's steady wave is warm, dissolving my goosebumps almost instantly. My hair flows gently into my face and I reach to pull the strands away with a solo finger. And as I touch the surface of my aging skin, I can feel the warmth gather behind my eyes. I hold back a form of flowing water not pleasing to you. But I have to be real. I have to be raw. And suddenly the warm trickle falls down my face. I realise that this time, I am alone. My heart begins to rush, and I can feel it's steady pound trying to break free of my chest. I stop and slowly open my lungs to consume the warm ocean air. I release the deep breath little by little and gain a portion of control once again. My spine stiffens, and I take another step forward. I raise my head up, clear my eyes of the foggy moisture, and bite my bottom lip as I dig for a confidence that must be hiding deep inside.

I can't speak. The idea of the taste of these words leaving my mouth is an unwanted flavour. I fight to control my heart it its cavity, to control my tears in their proper glands, to slow the shaking of my quivering hand. It's this physical state that I'm in that screams of fear and heartbreak. And as I swallow my pride, the gulp brings forth another wave of emotions I cannot control. I won't even start on these...