arya ‣ capitol ‣ cbd3

Four years old with my back to the door.

Knees pulled up into my chest as I listened to the roars and screams of a family held together by a single silver thread. This was never how it was meant to be: a perfect storm contained by skin bruised and flesh tainted by the unknown.

It would only be a matter of time before the puzzle pieces got lost and the masterpiece fell into ruin.

It's been five years since we've spoken last.

I've tried to make amendments but it's impossible to get back what we never had. A family built upon the sticks and stones of madness and insanity, devastation and despair. It was destiny that caused us to end up here. Like soaking wet paper, I am torn and ripped.

Family is meant to be forever, but in this case it has become less than never.

Side from side, left to right -- distance becomes distraction as I'm left suspended in a cloud of my own hopes. 

But this face is home to doe eyes and a half broken smile -- signalling that desire burns on like an eternal blaze.

The white light inside does not signify death in my mind, instead, a reminder that all that glitters is not gold, and that all we have is tomorrow's worth. 

My mother often asks me: "what are you waiting for?"

To which I can conjure no reply.