These Stories.

Insecurities. They are to me, my oldest acquaintance.

Long have I let them hold my hand, as I reluctantly held theirs back. And although it has been forever since we've known each other - and though they know me, flaws and all, inside and out - these insecurities are not my friends.

I have tried endlessly to rid myself of the lingering of their remains. How tired I have become - weary, and drained, in fact - from washing and rinsing away at my now bleaching skin, in often failed attempts at removing the stains of their rivalry.

Though you have been so loyal, and for all those years, have been my only companion: dear Demon, I want you no longer.

I want to be happy without you - to forget you, and all those things you have severed me with. I want to be able to look at my own reflection and be proud of who I see.

I do not want my shoulders to be burdened by you anymore.

Please, leave me, for there is a glimmer of sanctuary awaiting me at the end of this road. But you are heavy, and you are holding me back.

Let me go so I may be.

Let me go so I may be free.