I knew the final stretch would be hard, but I never imagined how many things would change during the last six months. It seems like a lifetime ago that I was walking through the streets, not really knowing who I was, and where I wanted to go. But look at me now and who I've become. Can you see the differences? The subtle as well as the obvious changes? I fell to pieces and I rebuilt myself into something I still can't quite recognise. This person that stares at me in the mirror, he seems so ... sure, so calm. I wonder if that's how the world sees me as well. I started writing to escape the life I was given, and create fantasy worlds, where I could do and be anything I wanted. Now it looks like the fantasy has become a burden, and life the gift. And even when I am faced with the pain of letting go, I tell myself I should not be too sad because it is over, I should smile because it happened, and if it happened once, it can for sure happen again.
