Tiny Little Dot
by me

As time has passed from childhood to adolescent-hood and now to a grey space between being a teenager and a self-sufficient adult, I find it harder to look at my life as a picture book- pages that if placed next to one another, would contain a semblance of the page before.
I feel that as I place the pages side by side (or try very hard to), I can only admit that I have changed, things have changed and my mind has grown to be more cynnical.
The depiction of my mindset has moved from crayon drawings to pencil sketches (easily erased to mould into its environment), to slobs of paint, one over the other. Layers of paint overlapping: splashed when I felt that adding a new colour would clear up the mess.
In every layer was a new emotion- sadness, desire, confusion, passion and hope. It is an imperfect artist impression that would make Picasso snort in distaste. Perfectly vulnerable to a fountain of whitewash which would erase everything into nothingness- a white eclipse over a slew of emotion.
I wish for you to be the tiny but stable dot, getting to know and making an imprint on all the pages of my picture book- its joy, pain and uncertainty. Perhaps you wouldn't mind being the only one connection between the different pictures.
Because then you would know me fully, and continue to know me fully in discovery as things change. When a stranger picks up the picture book, he would shrug, and throw it away after deeming it as incoherent. But I can look closer at it and find you in that tiny dot- the source of support and stability admist all the turmoil and confusion that the future may bring.