In the ever-shifting narrative of my amalgamation of years, who have I been? Who am I now, and who will I become? How does my reflection differ from a photograph? How does my image shift and warp in the eye of the beholder? Are you worthy? Are you unforgiving? Are you good? If I were to list all of my attributes, that list would be short and brutal. A break now and then for comic relief, but only for the watchful eye, and never for my own weary soul. To be given a kindness is rare. To receive it from yourself is rarer still. Better to give it. Better to release it in an unwavering flood so that those around you will never know draught, even when your own lips are parched. Who am I and who do I want to be? The ouroboros of questions. Wear it around your neck like a noose- what else are you meant to do with it? I often wonder if or when it will end. If there will be a break in the chain, or even a small crack to allow for opportunity. For something outside what we have grown used to. Am I saying what I want to say? It is hard to tell. Which words are the crafted voice, and which pierce through the fog? Hazy thoughts meet blurry ink pages.