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January.

Uncertainty was dust in my eyes. I’m sitting in a bus, heading NorthWest, headed towards 3 weeks of torture. My spirit is caged, mornings are dark, nights are cold and long, hello depression, daddy is gone. Chaos.

 

May.

I’m prowling the streets homeless, moving from one friend’s house to the other. I get a place later. I sit in an empty room and cry, I put pieces of all I could take with me together, books and clothes. Starting all over.

 

September.

Hope is the substance of life, love, it’s flavour. I sit through piles of paperwork trying to make sense of my existence. How am I even sure I exist? I feel my heart pulsating against my chest? What is feeling? Who am I? Awareness.

 

December.

Some things are forgivable after all. The end is probably always better than the beginning. Words turn to ice in my mouth, melt into my tongue like flesh in the eyes of fire.  Gratitude.

 

“What broke your heart in 2017?”

A friend had this question on Facebook, and I didn’t need to think long and hard before commenting ‘Family’.

 

It’s often difficult to write about family, how they break you into many pieces and say it’s because they care for and love you. How do you destroy the one you love? How do you prescribe what they should be and still expect them to be happy? How do you cage them and expect them to fly? In 2017, family happened to me but I’m grateful for the day I was walked out of daddy’s house, because it introduced me to purpose.

 

I’m grateful for all the people that opened their arms and house and gave me their money.

 

I’m grateful for all the forces that kept me from falling.

 

I’m grateful for that night I fell face down and cried “I forgive”, I truly did.

 

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