She writes, this child of mine. She makes up stories and universes and characters and she writes. Sometimes she tells me about them, sometimes she shares them with me in an email. Below is something she wrote, and read to me several weeks ago, that left me with tears in my eyes. Oftentimes, I can’t wrap my brain around the fact that she writes such things at her age! Sometimes, she displays a wisdom far beyond her years. Other times, she is herself, a blossoming young lady who is turning fourteen today. 🙂
I wanted to share this, because I am so proud of her. Happy Birthday, Baby Girl! I love you!
(Dredgen Grace is a gamer-name she made up for herself after achieving the title of Dredgen in Destiny2.)
Seasons by Dredgen Grace
Every piece in the form of who and what we are is shaped by the reality of our existence and our existential metamorphosis. That’s what most people call life.
But it’s also an inspiration into deep, shrouded layers.
A mold with an infinitely increasing number of possible shapes is constantly being filled and emptied, but no space can ever be refilled. Every space in that mold is anew in and of itself. People are like snowflakes: no two can be exactly the same. Similar maybe, sometimes sharing certain features or qualities, but never exactly the same.
I could also say people are like trees. Each one different, each one an exception, multi-faceted, taking in the life that other things breathe into us. Our seed, a distant memory. Our trunk, the unchangeable final form of self. But our branches, ever-growing, and our color ever-changing. When our vibrance and joyousness disappears, we wait for the grief that buries us to be washed away. Then before we know it we wake up, blossoms free, and start again. New life is breathed into our souls.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Year after year, until the day the last breath is drawn.
The day the leaves crumble and fall, but never grow back again.
It’s about the life I live, not the life I leave.