Her face, among the row of trees, is all I see. In this room I am bound, but it can not sink my soul. She is just a picture but she understands me. I am drawn to her, the sorrow in her eyes. No light, no hope. She understands. The blackness is not something I enjoy, but a part of me. Being sad has become comfortable, there are times that I long to be. I feel as if I have become everyone else. I am not myself, because I can not think beyond your boundaries. As the girl looks down, it is because she can not look up. It is a feeling I know well. I do not want to look in to the face of my attacker, although the attack is not malicious…or at least it was not intended to be.