[B0b_J3ffers0n]

Tempus Fluit; Ego Imperfectus Maneo.

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I remember, so very long ago, the girl I used to be.
The praise I would hear, the wonder I would feel.
Yet, the imperfections that were sung to; the flaws that were leered at.
I remember them, I hear them, singing across my skin and seeping into my bones.
Time is a fickle thing,
It always moves forwards,
Yet many can only look at it's footsteps.
My blood is a thing of miracles.
My lineage is a thing of legend.
And yet: I feel as if I am ultimately lesser than those without it.

Time is a funny thing,
It races through all of us,
Yet none can truly tell what it takes from us.

I am a selfish woman.
I am a foolish woman.
I am a woman without pride.

I remember, not so long ago, the girl I wished to be.
The girl with strength at her beck and call.
The girl with pride unbound.

Time is a sad thing,
It heals as much as it harms,
It smiles and yet it never quite speaks to us.
I remember the joy I would feel, thinking of what I could be.
I remember the raw potential whispered to me amidst moments of doubt.
And yet: I do not see that girl.
I see an observer.

Ever so distant,

And yet ever so close,

One could almost touch it.

My blood is a thing of miracles.
My lineage is a mix of heroism and villainy alike.
I see many around me accomplish so much.
I smile.
I want to cry.

And yet,

Through all of our ambition,

It remains just out of reach.

I am a selfish woman, innately.
I am a foolish woman, inherently.
So sad,

So sad,

So truly sad.

I want to find my pride.