contained within these photographs, I can see a trace of how my life used to be;

hidden away on an attic shelf, yellowed and forgotten with the time I begin to see;
                                    
that once my life was a fairytale, kept promises and wishing wells;

I was ready....for anything;

how long will it take for me to be;

someone I’d be proud to say is me;


I know, I know; a little bit more about myself;

and I know, I know, I shouldn’t be thinking about myself;
                   
but when I look into the reflecting pool I’m still the only one I see;
   
I wish there was something else here for me;


curious nights into beautiful days, around the edges a lingering gray;

uncertainty, a withering;

when I’m alone I wish myself into fantasy worlds between heaven and hell
           
but none of that lasts, I’m lingering;


don’t want to spend my whole life in this room;

afraid to breathe or make a move;


wasn’t like a slow storm building;

it was a sudden and full awakening;

not like a heavy, belabored breathing;
                  
more like a cleansing wind blew into my very soul;

and it saved my life and eased my troubled mind;

still so much I want to do with so little time;