It’s so hard sometimes.
To do what?
I couldn’t tell you.
All I know is that, whatever it is, it’s really hard.
Sometimes, I try to picture what it could be.
Sometimes, I come up blank.
Others, I am faced with a world of trouble so terrible, that even thinking about them makes the blood in my veins run cold.
My most recent example came about when I was lying in my bed, in a sleepless state, Staring at the ceiling as if it reflected marvels into my eyes.
I lifted my arm and traced imaginary patterns in the air,
My gaze followed each stroke my finger left behind.
The wind pressed against the window, threatening to invade
The sky twinkled with emptiness, and the moon and the stars lay lazily in a bed of darkness.
I thought of people who couldn’t appreciate moments such as these.
The ones that are only moments if you let them last longer than a minute.
These people weren't living anymore.
Sure, they were alive and breathing, their heart pumping.
But that isn’t living…
That’s only surviving.
I always think that these people will turn grey one day.
Purely because the lack of life in them drained the colour from their very being.
It must be hard.
It is hard.
Occasionally, I see myself as a grey skinned woman.
Each time it happens I kick myself for being so unappreciative.
Each kick drains another area of life from my being.
I am a grey-skinned woman.
It’s so hard sometimes.
by Zara Yasmine, Year 11 on Publishers Studio