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There are so many shades of the people I've known. They're all so different - none of them are exactly mine, though it's hard to tell on a few. Some are so different that I hardly recognize them - others leave an ache in my chest for my own.
Whether they're really yours or just share the same image, it's difficult to see your children in chains.
It's exceptionally strange to see shades of myself, and see how different they are. How did their circumstances change to develop so differently? How did their timelines play out? Do we all meet the same ends, share the same faces that are dear to us? Is what they've done so much worse than mine, to be met with such vehemence, or are their little ones simply more honest about what they feel? I can feel a lie, I would know, wouldn't I?
If our story changes so much that it effects us so strongly, are we still the same person?
Whether they're really yours or just share the same image, it's difficult to see your children in chains.
It's exceptionally strange to see shades of myself, and see how different they are. How did their circumstances change to develop so differently? How did their timelines play out? Do we all meet the same ends, share the same faces that are dear to us? Is what they've done so much worse than mine, to be met with such vehemence, or are their little ones simply more honest about what they feel? I can feel a lie, I would know, wouldn't I?
If our story changes so much that it effects us so strongly, are we still the same person?
