New Balance

NB| 2

The thoughts in her mind transferred to the painting—she'd created an image of her inner self kneeling; a small, tattered heart in the palm of the paintings' hands. There were intricate details as Amara continued to perfect her art—focusing on the red droplets seeping through the openings of the persons' hands.

Amara had learned to enjoy her solitude—to bask in the highs and lows of her own company. The process wasn't easy, though. In the beginning, Amara believed that being alone meant drowning negative thoughts, feelings and emotions. She was afraid of being by herself—afraid of dealing with emotions that she couldn't escape and wasn't ready to deal with.

However, Amara found beauty in appreciating her alone time. She found a distant reality in her solitude—a peaceful escape to not only know, but to understand who she was and who she is becoming.

"Anandi Noelle," She heard her father's voice, "Whatchu doin' out here, Moo?"

Amara glanced at her father—Amadi's long locs pulled into a low ponytail as he cradled Nyala in one arm, "Painting. What are you doing out here? Why are you holding her like that?"

"Moo," Amadi shook his head at his daughter, "You sound just like ya' Mama."

"What're you painting today?" Amadi carefully sat next to her, glancing at the canvas.

"Just something random," Amara shrugged, "What'd you think?"

When it came to art, Amara always sought validation from her father. By his family, Amadi was considered an artistic genius—there wasn't anything he couldn't do. As a child, Amadi sketched, drew and painted anywhere he could—the walls of his childhood home, an old bill statement, it didn't matter. In the early years of Amara's life, Amadi witnessed his talents blossoming within his daughter and he helped her talents grow from then until now.

"Brighten your reds, Moo," He adjusted Nyala in his arms, "Do a little bit of orange and it should brighten."

"That's what it needed," Amara showed her father, "I wondered why everything looked so—"

"Dull as hell," Amadi nished, as the two shared a laugh before welcoming the silence.

Amadi rested his back against the trunk of the tree, resting Nyala on his chest and he touched the spot next to him. Amara sat beside him, tting her body into the length of his arms. Amadi pulled her closer, placing a kiss on her forehead, "I love you, Nandi. You hear me?"

"I know," Amara sighed, staring at the clouds. Her eyes stung with tears as she melted into her father's embrace.

"Let it out," Amadi held his daughter tightly, "You don't have to hold it in."

"I can't," Amara avoided her father's gaze, "I don't want to think or talk about it."

Amadi sighed, gently soothing Amara, "You have to free yourself, Anandi. Your thoughts become restraints and you'll forever be a prisoner within your mind, Phats. It doesn't have to be on anyone else's time, but yours."

Though Amadi's words contained wisdom, Amara didn't know how to release herself. She was trapped—entangled inside the poisonous nettings of her own thoughts. Each time Amara's mind seemed to drift, taunting and traumatic memories led the space of tranquility. The images were vivid—she could hear her loud, ear-piercing cries and heart-wrenching pleading. She remembered everything because her mind and thoughts never let her forget it.

"Be gentle to yourself, Anandi. Healing isn't linear but it isn't stagnant," He kissed his daughter on the forehead, "You deserve to walk in the light that has always been destined for you. You deserve to have your power back."