Of writing and future

15 years ago

23 years ago

25 years ago

I was writing

And drawing

15 years ago

I was a teenager

Feeling intense emotions

Dealing with them

23 years ago

I was writing stories

Much words on sheets of paper

25 years ago

I drew on surfaces

To express myself

Why do I recount these?

Had all these years only been 30?

Had all these years been so little?

Meaningful, yet, would it be enough to redeem a place in Paradise?

I used to love to compose

And it would be so satisfying.

After 30 little years,

I am now a mother.

Irreversible.

Has it only been 30 little years,

Listening and learning right now,

Makes me feel unfortunate and unsure;

Would what I have with me be enough?

And, what of the future?

Mysterious and daunting.

No promises of Paradise.

Worry and hope.