Floating Through Life ✔️

Chapter 1

Identity, identity. What does it mean to live a life with loss of such a necessity? What does it mean to live a life so bland that it's meaningless? Quite a bore, quite a nuisance. What if I said that we are the bearers of our own truth? What if I said we  have some power over our own destinies?
Choices are made, then accumulated from fragments into a representation of a being.  Opinions are cultivated, a passion blooms into a soul. But what if some girl out there was living in total apprehension of what she was that she lived as someone she felt safe being?
 
It was a hot day, remembered for the flames it set in her heart. She was quiet, as she usually was, but then it wasn't out of insight as much as it was out of nostalgia. She walked around barefoot, forcing her soles to feel one last time how the marble floors felt against them. Her hands grazed the roughly textured wall that she hated so much, but ended up loving. She inhaled the familiar smell of dust that she had grown accustomed to, and smiled sadly. The place held so many stories of hers, it was overwhelming. She wanted to close her eyes, but feared the memories that would gush through her head once she did.  Nevertheless, she wanted to make her peace with the place; she wanted to properly say goodbye, and how to do that without embracing what it meant to her? So a little by little, she thought, a little by little.

The sun shone through the sheer curtains, making her shadow cover the room in which she lived in for almost two decades. Her Nirvana posters had creased edges, the Polaroids of her and people she hasn't spoken to in years still decorated the grim grey wall. She blinked once, and the echo of a past occurrence poured in from the back of her mind to the front of it. There she was, nine years old, curled up in bed with a Dickens on the holidays. The mystery twisted as she sipped on her hot chocolate. A different child she was indeed. She reopened her eyes, and her room blurred into vision.

She still couldn't fully grasp that she was going to let go of this place. It was as close to her heart as the horizon was to the sky; so close yet so far away. It wasn't a part of her soul, rather it was her soul itself. It was the ugliness that she had been hiding from the world for so long, it was where she could be herself. It was where she grew up, grew down, and rose back up from all of it. It was all so hard to leave, but don't they say if you love it, you let it go?