When I was five, I looked forward to good deed cards and straws that counted to 100. I thought magic was real and that tomorrow would be great.
When I was nine, I noticed my weight, and how everyone else knew how to do their own hair perfectly. I thought hope was real and that I, too, would be pretty someday.
When I was fifteen, I stopped eating and weighed myself more often than I smiled. I thought the blade was my friend, and that I couldn't get any worse.
When I was eighteen, I tried recovering from all the shit I had done to myself. People told me there was hope, and that I was so strong. I tried to believe them.
When I turn twenty, I
The heart is a mirror.
Every act a reflection of previous memories.
Some advice:
handle with care.
Shards of a broken heart,
sharp as razors,
anxious for revenge,
full of anger,
will do much damage.
But when treated with kindness,
the serenity and peace reflected is matchless.