My story is a roaming smell of home cooked meals with a hit of alcohol.

My story is an unconditional broken love that is being repaired by others affection.

My story is “You’ll never make it”, but it is yelled back by “I will.”

My story is “It’s ok, it’s the three bottles talking”, However it was never “ok”.

Using that negative fuel to start my engine, going back and forth to school.

My story is loving those who do not deserve it.

My story is loving one so dearly who then vanished right before my eyes.

Believing that it will fulfill my despite desire for my Mother’s love.

My story is a half empty home.

With beautiful chandeliers that don’t seem to shed light on my dark despairs.

My story is switching the God damn lights on to stumble upon happiness.

My story is a mask.

My story is seeking for the best and forgetting all the voices of discouragement.

My story is making the best out of a bad situation to remain happy.

My story is a beautiful broken vase.

With crazy, fun, and exotic patterns.

My story is picking up every little piece and creating into a better version.

My story is the highest mountain on Earth.

With a difficult trail.

My story is a climb not yet finished, until the very top is exposed.