I was 1, now I’m not. I was a daughter, now I’m a mother. I have a father, I haven’t seen him in a while. My family had me, then I had a family. A short life, yet very… very long. Some years ago, I tried to start a book but I never went past the first few pages. I’m not a novelist, nor would I categorize my writing. I’d like to say that my words are free and so are my thoughts but even that, I know not to be true. My perception has gone through a long and troublesome journey to be changed and reconstructed. Not by my will, but His. Though I squirmed and complained, I’m glad I’m alive and breathing. Experiencing an unclear version of what will be clear at the end. It’s still exciting, still unpredictable, still lonely, still lovely.

It’s still beautiful.