MEASURING IN LIGHT

I had started to count kindness on my fingers. If you were like me, you barely got enough of it to fill in one hand, but I took what I could; I still do. I had learnt to lick it in scraps, taking whatever I could and storing it in a jar made of hope and I took a bit more out of it than I should have every time I was told I wasn’t enough. Which was every day.

Growing Up

I don’t remember growing up, I can’t remember when I stopped asking for goodnight kisses or sliding into my parent’s bed after having a nightmare. I don’t remember when my morning routine changed from getting out of bed for breakfast to staying in and convincing myself that I am enough and I’m hardly convinced. I’m turning 20 next week and it feels a lot older than it’s supposed to.