niiepan

I fear that I have become so accustomed to tragedy that I no longer know how to live without it. And although the seasons change, they remain the same year after year. A scared, quiet girl sitting alone in a pastel painted cell, trapped by the knowledge of who she was, the dream of who she wants to be, with no idea of who she is. We all lie, sometimes. Whether it’s to make excuses or to rationalise our decisions and situations, we all falsify our existence to get by. I’ve fought what I am for so long now that I’ve become everything I feared I would be. I am the best thing my mother has ever done, and I have failed her. So who