Ana-log No. 6 (January, February and March)

It was one of the most exhausting and miserable periods of my life. My clean slate had suddenly been tainted with permanent ink. All I can remember is my skin feeling dreadfully hoarse and tight.  My friends were hurting just as much as me, if not more. And it hurt watching them hurt. We were chasing paper planes leading us to outlandish daydreams. We were lost, but not broken. For how can you be broken with loving souls by your side? We were holding each other in our hands, wiping tears from our eyes, while standing tall like soldiers ready fight terror. It was our way of coping with the pain. And it still is.