"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.” -Anais Nin
I don’t ever wanna be like my parents. I know that they must’ve loved each other at one time, right? That they just got it all out of the way before they had me? How do you trust your feelings when they can just disappear like that?