I am not just one thing. I am many. I am divinity shaped by a broken past. And in my scattered fragments, you will find a dark and hidden beauty. I am a story waiting to be read. I am a work of art waiting to be felt. And in all that I create and consume, I long to feel I am someplace far away and yet utterly home all at once.

Days Past.

Journal entry
(19 April 2019)

I liked places like this.
Behind me. Is this changing?
This.
Sunshine. Warmth. You. Us.
This place is us.

Heartbeat. I can hear it. Yours.
Soft pitter-patter from within.
It is soothing. Infinite.
We are alive.

I liked feeling this way.
Rested. Peaceful. Happy.
I liked feeling like this
is all I have.

She listened to me
and heard my silent words.
No judging, no interrupting.
She understood
and whispered it back to me.

The sun. The warmth.
The breeze. It feels good.
The birds. They sing.
No! Please, do not go away.

A moment lost, but not forever.
Silently, you will return again
and echo to me
this never ending cycle.

Yours truly,
Me

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