There are times when I want to tell you everything. I want to paint you a giant canvas of my mind, confused and colourful. Or perhaps I could scrawl it on to a little piece of paper, and you could read it and understand; You could hold me in your arms and stroke my hair, and sing softly to me. However, when this opportunity arises, I tend to count to ten in my head. I tell myself, “I’ll let it all spill out now, in ten seconds”. And I never do. I’m afraid to show myself, even to you my dear.