Before i was a person, i was a thought. Floating around in the wavelength of my mothers refusal and my fathers pushing, and because of this i don’t think i ever learned to be a person. I am stuck in that integral phase between being and evolving. I have been, i am, but i have yet to become. I am still in my childhood room, wrapped in blankets as a queen is wrapped in jewels, adorned in every emotion i never let go of. What I’m trying to say is that when i look in the mirror a little girl looks back at me. I am the same as I’ve ever been. A thought.

Excerpt from a book ill never write (Rose)