I didn’t realize it. Not a year ago. Not even three years ago. I guess maybe I’d forgotten. Perhaps with age the sharpness that keeps me fierce had dulled. Perhaps.
Growing and changing. It’s all a natural part of dying. Dying, because the very second we start to live so too do we begin to die. Kind of a bleak outlook but real and true and right. Right as I’ve always felt since I began accepting the changing. To fight who you are, who you are to become, only brings wrong. And in wrongness we will forever be lost. I remember when I stopped fighting it. When I stopped hating who I was to be.
Seventeen. Seven years have passed. And the passage of time, of changes, has brought me now to today. Twenty-three years ago on this day, I was born. A blank page. The road before me rough and the world outside dark. Do you believe in fate? I don’t. I believe that every person sets their own path and makes their own choices. And everyone around us, they are a product of these choices. Each choice producing a change and each change forever a part of who we are.
Here I am, full circle. Back to my original thought. So much has happened in a year. Like a cosmic joke, every time I think there couldn’t possibly be any more changing to do, BANG! The Gods laugh while I pick up the pieces and learn to be new again. Changed. Different but still the same.
