blair tate {seven} cb fin

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Tate: a name, a second name. But what does it mean?

Long hair with dull eyes. A skeleton with skin and a mind swirling with life and death. No princess, no saint -- just a girl. Ordinary, with extraordinary circumstances.

Weakness, death, weakness, death. A mind plagued by hopeful dreams of a childhood in full colour rather than black and white. Spaces filled rather than completing the puzzle only to find there is one piece missing. Always wondering how things could have been different -- if time could be turned, would it be him? Would I be longing for half of a brother forgotten in a mechanical past, or would wounds only be cut deeper, with salt poured in.

I've tried to remain my happy self. But it's hard when there's no jolly in your heart. Once locked up tight was light and peace, but now it's broken and all that was good has escaped. I'm still hopeful that things will get better. Things have a tendency to do that. And for now, it's okay to feel empty and as if nothing is okay -- because one day, it will be. And I know that. I know that, right?

And with time comes change. One day I'm sure that I won't be so childish. Too much time with my head in the clouds without my feet of the ground. Perhaps I'll finally get a grip and stop hiding in the shadows and prove my worth. Tate: a name, not a label. I don't have to be a ghost, or a corpse. I can be a girl, and I can be a strong one.

I can't though, and I won't. Because I'm haunted.

{277}