Four Women

It’s been a long time since I have put personal thoughts to paper. Digital, or other.

There was a time I was an avid journal keeper. Random quotes, fragments of well constructed sentences, bite sized observations. The journals of my past are riddled with half completes and little drawings. There is sentimental poetry about lovers, bike rides, parks without names, the women in my life, and neighbourhoods I used to know.

My life could be pieced together through these scraps of thought, put together like a puzzle. A puzzle missing the borders. There is only the inside pieces, and although it seems impossible to pick one greyish blob from another and find out where it goes, it makes perfect sense once it is placed, once the other piece interlocks with it.

My Nana is moving from a house filled with the lifetimes of four women. Culling and organizing my lifetime of memories has led to some revaltions.

I am stronger than I think I am. I have had many happy times. Incredible people love me.

I love more than I ever knew.


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