Sunday, 21 February 2010


Light catches her face, and she starts crying. She wanted many things; love, happiness, contentment, peace, excitement. She wanted, most of all, to be understood. To be recognized for who she was. What she was. In the shadows of London's dusk, she'd refuse to take abuse lying down. And yet, here she was.

So this is what all the fuss is about. Life, at 21, at its zenith. You're looking down over yawning possibilities, and jumping from puddle to puddle, choosing splashes as they erupt. A step in the wrong puddle is nothing to cry over. It's just something you learn from. So there's more puddles to jump in.

Until you jump in quicksand. Escape is no longer an option.

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