I think with the language I have been taught and believe within the spectrum of what I’ve learnt is possible. we are brought into being as clay to be shaped and weathered as those already shaped by others before them deem fit. my sense of extraordinary and mundane is not my own but a response to the days I have lived through the lens forged for me before I could talk. no one view is perfect but I think I’ve been lucky. things could have played out much worse. had it been my decision I would still choose my parents to hold my hand in the dark. I love them more as time passes and they love me too and that’s more than enough luck for one mound of clay.
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