Who I am.
I have no idea, whatsoever.
Today, I am 28, alive. I whisper sweet nothings into my own ears. A writer, an honest liar. With good intentions initially, but even that tends to change at times. So, who am I? No idea. I suppose I could be a role model, to someone who can't voice their pain. I've mastered that skill, without comparison since writing is incomparable to any other type of artistry. Today a love letter, tomorrow a suicide note Most of us have contemplated writing both, at some point. My current moments are filled with skepticism. I am unsure about all things around me, things that are precious, things that seem rotten, and in many cases those two seem to coincide. I believe that we all must serve with purpose. Make our presence known for more than what is presented in the forefront. I truly believe that I am brought here as an example of all things imperfect, all human beings to strive to find what is normal, for ourselves- never a representation of what is to be expected to others. I love harshly and unapologetically, I know that for many, that can be unacceptable- but this couldn't be learned unless I make sure that I am honest with that intention. That, I want to love. So much so- that there will never be a mistake made of condition, love stays with you in the afterlife, we are forever inclined and destined to stay true to this; love, I've become an advocate of this, and in many ways I am a martyr- being killed over and over, all in the name of remembrance, to never stop loving, in a place where it is taboo.