There were days when I used to feel numb, because I was avoiding even worse feelings. I told myself that I had no reason to be feeling the way I did. I had a home, I had friends, I had a loving family. Nothing really was wrong with my life. But telling myself this never really helped. When I got the chance to be by myself, my smile would fade. Everything I’d built up to keep people from worrying would crumble. It was then that I could feel the shadow curling around me, cutting me off from the rest of the world. But then you came. You slipped under my walls, you pushed through the shadow like it wasn’t even there, and you shone. You shone bright enough to keep the dark tendrils from edging their way back into me. You shone whenever you looked my way, actually looking into me rather than at the shell I’d put up. You shone whenever you held me in your arms, engulfing me, protecting me from those worse feelings. You shone whenever you loved me, making that darkness completely irrelevant. But now when you’re gone, the shadows creep back, your light on the other side. I light a torch from you, but it’s nothing compared to your sun. I find myself dreading when I revert to my old ways of handling the shadows. The walls, the distance, the numbness. I hold out my torch and see you through the fog. I know you’re doing all you can to keep my torch lit, but as the mist thickens so do my walls, and my biggest fear comes closer and closer to fruition. That they will harden completely, with you on the other side.