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I'm writing, but am I writing anything important? Will it help me in the future? What will I be? What will I do, hear, say, see? What is the use in anything if it's only to make this life bearable? What is this? What will become of me? Will I just fade into the fabric like most others? Will I BE REmemBERED?

Will I leave everything behind?

Will I find who I am?


Will I always wish to be how I was before I hit the double digits?

Will I still remember that Easter Day when I first heard it while in my

easter outfit on my white and pink tricycle, riding around?

O, Irrylath, Irrylath, we squandered our two years together...