In some shade of life, we could have been. Not in this one.

Coelho had a saying: hatred, when matured a person enough, turns into one of the many ways of love. Today is the day I should state he is right. In this case, I don't think mine was in a dark degree; I did not hate but instead was filled with anger. Listening to a story emerged as a retrospective into mine. I looked at it, at us once again, this time the fog was gone. And I saw two versions of the story: one being "could be", and the other being "is". And I actually would like to use this page that they have carried out their right of choice in favor of saving me from themselves. In some shade of life, we could have been. Not in this one.

A part of me knows that they have, with or without their consciousness, decided to set me free, and a part of me knows I would have entrapped myself in a nightmare, dressed like my version of a fairy tale.

Now all that once caused hurt, just heals me. And that is interestingly new. I'm a fan of self-confrontations due to my discovery as a little girl that they are givers of growth.

I'm in love with a fairytale and I'm ready to lose my mind, knowing perfectly well that real discovery happens when you lose it. You discover what it was worth by its absence. That takes the journey on a whole new level, over and over, mine took me to words. So I'm here, with you, back at it and knowing I have infinitestories to share, all around the world I swear is the feeling I have.

Some paragraphs won't rhyme, and some will become epiphenomenal; still, they will be.

And I will too, be.