This is where the problem lies; knowing the end. It is saddening to be aware of how the ending will be. It shatters us to the core knowing there is a finish line, knowing this is all merely the high. That's the problem when you've already died and revived yourself; you're never fully alive again. It isn't the same as the first time, that wound has left a scar and this scar is a reminder that the finish line is what you deem it. I feel like I've acquired the taste of disappointment and maybe that's why I can't adjust myself to this new flavor, a mixture of chance, hope, and love; a tang so heavenly. I attempted and I continue to attempt building a home in a land to which I don't belong. There is still that voice that asks, how can I mold it into an asylum when it is not mine? How can I stay, reside in a place that is overcrowded? How did I lead myself here? But I silence that voice because I am so overwhelmed by the thought of what might be. The what if's and maybe's are intoxicating but here I am inhaling all the unrealistic possibilities in hope that the end might be modified. The feeling of home can't be enforced it is a choice. This choice isn't an independent one it has to be two sided otherwise the four walls that are holding us together eventually collapse for when the base isn't strong, when it isn't solid it falls apart and when it does it takes a piece of us with it. A piece we can't get back, we can't recollect. We are left scarred. Yet the scars we bear aren't a shame they are power. These wounds will heal and they will mend us into warriors. This hurt will end and we will blossom.
I remember the very first baby I saw come to life had such a beautiful mother. Finally, we were upgraded to the labor room! The first week was filled with gauze and linen sheets. It was an eternal process of making beds and folding gauze, and honestly I started to doubt the day to enter the labor room was ever going to co me and if it was worth all that preparatory work . Everyday, women would come and give birth and there would be other nurses in-training like ourselves that were very “pushy’, so as you could imagine, we were always asked to leave and they would get the chance to watch the gift of life. Next thing we did was go in extra early and build strong relationship with all the people in the labor room. However, we would always arrive 2-3 minutes later than a birth, yet we would get to clean the beautiful newborn and dress them up and our mission was soon to be accomplished! So, the next day we got in, there was such a beautiful woman, painfully l...
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