A piece of each person I meet, care about, or love. My own self shifting based on who I am with, or where I am. I don't know who I am when I am in the depths of depression. I lose myself when anxiety takes over. Finding myself in the watery grave of the ocean is a lost cause; the ocean washes over me and claims me as her own. I am a fae, a witch, in the mountains, a changeling whose veins are made from the roots of alpine trees, with skin stitched together by the elements of the earth, wind, and sky. A tree elf in the woods, with skin etched in runes. I am as vicious as a storm wind, chaotic and destructive like a hurricane, striking down the path of a tornado, biting like the cold air of winter. A spirit of those who we have lost buried in a cemetery, embodying a different person with each visit. My true self when I am alone, lost in my own thoughts, soul drifting to the dark spaces between the stars. I am each character of each book I read, every one a small piece of me; I am protagonist, antagonist, and neutral character in each chapter I read. I am the person the people talk about on my true crime podcasts. A lost wayfarer, a drifter, another face lost in the crowd whenever I travel, absorbing the best elements of the places I travel to, integrating small pieces of the culture into my life, allowing myself to be someone new in each place. The hopeless romantic when I fall in love with someone, loving and caring, maybe a little naïve. I am all the ones who came before me, my forebears who passed on the traits that will live on, the ones we know of and the ones we don’t. I am a little piece of my mother, impatient and fierce, yet kind and loving. I am a bit of my dad, silent and observant. The blood of my ancestors run through me undiluted, fiery and fierce, with everything that was and that will be. I am part earth, stoic, with still waters running deep, scarred and burned, but still thriving beneath the mark of people. Silence, right before a storm or at the depth of night, heavy against your skin, embracing you in my solemn friendship. A little bit of the space between the stars, dark and mysterious and maybe a little chaotic. Sometimes I am a tree, grounded, reaching up to the sky, but never getting there. There’s a small part of me that is influenced by the gods I follow and serve, mischievous and dark, wild, chaotic, restless, free. Still waters that run deep, mysterious, full of things unknown by people, holding in secrets never to be discovered in my lifetime, or those beyond. Even the secrets within me hold sway to who I am; the more I hide, the more I change, and sometimes I have a hard time recognizing myself with all the silent words I carry. Miniscule pieces of me have been lost, torn away by losing people I have loved in my life, replaced by the ache that will never leave me, altering my very soul.
I am a million different people from one day to the next. And sometimes I forget who I am, the way I change like a chameleon. But my soul will never forget who I am; I am not so altered as all that. I may change, but the basic aspects of myself will never alter.
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