Daughter Of A Lover

It was not normal, the way it hit me.

But again the definition of normal ended up being quite soleil in this case. Castigated and hated just because it exists. What a burden must it be to be the adjective that is most craved but also the deadliest one and still one of the greatest insults and compliments; all in just 2 syllables.

If this were to succumb to the temptative crave of fitting into normal. This book would never be picked up because the nights spent writing it were spent creating memories which would be remembered many years later in a couple’s funeral. If it got written, it would have just been an overdeveloped poetic nightmare classified as fiction. It would have thrilled many minds but not related any hearts.

I am the daughter of a lover.

Daughter of a lover. This title is more descriptive than my own name. When they know this they won’t want to hear my story.

“You know my name not my story”* Succumbed

Daughter of a lover you know that but, you don’t know my story.

Let’s get rebellious

(I can already feel the insults growing on me)

And not succumb to normal.

If this were to be a rebellion against normal (A certain purpose to this spent sunsets) you would not be drawing conclusions about my new title rather it would trigger a crave to know more about this rebellious story and the rebellious owner of that title which would succumb to the burden of not falling into the trap that one is what the crowds say we are.