The Makings of Me.

At first, she was a girl with her head bobbed open and I felt like I knew her from the start. My heart trickles as I write but writing I am and breathing I am not as there are flames up my heart and my mind is nude beyond belief. I grief to my own self of the pain and the misery but not the death. Luckily not the death. I could have been alive or I could have been breathing. I felt it wasn’t her, it wasn’t me, but it was and my hands had just drewn her, sitting down on the pavement and I am amazed by how I got the detail right and how it fits the moments after I lit the candle that would change my life.

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The whole world knew it and yet I was the last one to know. How could I be so dumb in a world of very intellectual individuals. How could I yet I was the one facing the fears everyone keeps dark and hidden. Facing not only death as a candle but death it’s self as I still wake up breathless and haunted by my own nightmares.

A long time ago someone told me I would be changing the world but not the way I thought, the way I did.

In fact, it didn’t changed, it stayed just the same but what I was hoping for was a lot more than what happened.

See I got a wish and my wish came true but not the dream.

Not the dream that I always wanted. A career that I built, in order to escape, my shell, and I call it my shell because it soon because my shell and my only means of smiling and having a good life.

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