The whiteness and blackness of my mind: Behind the Wall of Doubt

We build our own walls brick by brick, with fears, with habits, with memories we dare not bury.

We live within them for years, growing so accustomed to the darkness that light seems like a stranger.

The strange thing is, the way out has always been there.

Birds fly right through the very spot where we stand.

Water flows past the very stone we deemed unbreakable.

So perhaps the point is not finding the way out; the point is what we must kill within ourselves to be able to pass through.

And perhaps a day will come when we look back and realize:

We were not prisoners of the walls; we were prisoners of the image we had built of ourselves. And then, before we even took flight, we realized that the sky was not always on the other side of the wall; the sky had begun the very moment we dared to be no longer who we had been in the past.