Passage

Change is a frightening thing. It is black; it is brilliant.

But change left a void. It was a leap betrayed by unstable footing.

This change was not insignificant, but it failed to be defined as significant as well. It is equal parts of both, yet nothing close to breakeven.

I’d lost a part of me during the passage, a huge one. It somehow felt like there was nothing left. Suddenly, I was devoid of my own worth as a person. And so I turned to writing to build myself back up.

Reader, you are phantom. But do understand that this space will be far from perfect. This space is to be filled with the words of someone who’d promised to write a little bit every day, even when it hurts. Just until the jar is filled with dreams, emptied, and filled once again.

 

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