Me.

Me. A complicated muddle of emotions, rolls, strands, smiles, colours, tears, poetry and stardust. A number bigger than I’d like. A face wonkier than is preferable. A history that is complex and sad and rich and joyful. A future that holds mystery and promises, upsets outweighed (I hope) by immeasurable moments of utter bliss. Friendships formed and melted away, new friends gained. Some ties unbreakable through an invisible tether, like that between family. Tangled amongst the memories are ideas and notions of what may be further down the line. Hopes and dreams adundant. None of which are dependent on how I look. How I look bears no relation to my happiness or life, unless of course I allow myself to place more importance on vanity and appearance than life itself and all the richness it has to offer. However uncertain it can sometimes seem, there is and always will be, a wealth of beauty from which to draw and absorb into the very fibres of our being. Dip your toe into the well of life and drink. Consume as much of it as you can and ignore the white noise.

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