No set meter, no rhyme, no rules, no particular structure.
Just liberation, just a change of mind, just an expression.
Nothing has changed except me and the facts.
Facts about my imperfections.
Every season of life, you are imperfect in a perfect way.
In the fire, you look at the future.
Things you wish you could control and have at your finger tips.
Yet a box of opportunities.
You grab it and you won’t let go until you seize it.
You store memories of disappointments.
But they become a part of you and mould you.
You are stronger now.
Shelves of shared laughter.
Not the darkness of mere existence.
That’s all there is, laughter.