If I were to write a novel about my life, I don’t know if it would be a very interesting read. I do however know for certain that my story could be split into two distinct sections:
Section one, titled Before I Met You
a life filled with picking at my skin in a room full of people because everyone was better than me, worry lines dancing across my face, cold coffee, feeling lost without a map to lead me home, sleeping my life away, and band aids unsuccessfully trying to hold together the fragments of my soul.
Section two, titled After I Met You
a life filled with brilliant clear skies, a kind of happiness that brings tears to your eyes, believing in magic again, laughter lines, confidence radiating like the sun, finally finding home, and the healing of my heart.