• Black.

    Yes, it's definitely pitch black.

    I'm pretty sure most of the time it is.

    But then again, there are times when it's not.

    Sometimes a spotlight drops and I see... a desk.

    Normally the desk is messy. I remember it had glue, uhm, ah, yes, and gum everywhere. What else... there were paper clips stuck on to the desk by the lurid pinkish rotten gum. Oh, and we must not forget all those pretty pens and pencils suffocating in the sea of transparent glue. Oh, right! There were CD's, and an earphone as well. Hmm... Yeah, the desk was wooden -- which made it look even messier. Ah, wait. I remember, there was liquid, shooting out in every direction. They looked oily, in a way, and, I'm pretty sure, they're not transparent -- not water -- lemonade or vegetable juice, maybe, or was it both?

    When the light flashed over the dark room with nothing but a dirty desk, it hit me -- the desk, disgusting and messy, must resembled my frustrated, yet endless train of thoughts.

    Each time there is a new thought, old ideas will be forced to the bottom, piling up the desk. Until the desk has no space left, that is when I realized I've been thinking too much.

    My mind, always thinking too much, really needs a nice "rag" -- you know, to wipe the desk.

    I've wiped it before -- quite a few times, too.

    It always worked, really. But over time, it piles up again. Each time something different. Books, test papers, cell phones, wrappers, USB's, key chains, coins, love letters, photographs -- you name it.

    My dark and lonely mind, with nothing but a messy desk, resembles my thoughts.

    It is what I have been thinking about, what I've thought about yesterday, or the day before yesterday.

    It's been recording down everything that comes to me.

    It's who I am.