At this time in my life; there have been very few original thoughts. If I were to be left alone in a room for an hour, without food, water, or any light. I would think of people, what they said, how I remember them, what other things look like, maybe even talk to myself or develop an imaginary friend. Who knows, life's a mystery, so am I...I'm more of a mystery to anyone; they wonder why I do things, and question why I do them they way I do....My life is a cluster of things I need to say. Things that relate. Things I need to talk to someone about.
My voice is deep, many people say this, others don't. My mother, a great woman, hardworking, kind, sweet, light-hearted. She's amazing in every aspect. Often, we get told we look alike, however, my mother always says I look like my dad. I can see why, but not now. With the face I have (For those who have seen it) isn't all too worth looking at. My parents constantly state I'm beautiful. I often sit there, wondering if they think I've never seen a mirror, or know what ugly means.
My dearest people, I say one thing. This isn't a book about me, or my thoughts, or my life, but a book to tell you that life is a clusterfuck of things that will occasionally ruin, scar or break you, and dare I damn say...Let it
