- ̗̀ ❛ - 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.
𝑙𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑦.
— 1. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 into cold air, grunts of pain, and your screams fill the air with joy : you are loved and you are safe, and you are wise in all of your open possibilities. you’re held by your parents and they grin when you open green eyes, the flowers that permeate the room with sweetness becoming your namesake. lily marie, the latter referring to the mother of the saviour—- one of the small ironies of fate you won’t live long enough to appreciate.
— 2. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 the world is kind, sweet, magical. you trail after your big sister like a little puppy, whisper under bedcovers at night, laugh uncorrupted. you see no evil, no hatred through your green little eyes : you’re happy, and normal, and safe.
— 3. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 you’re different but different means special if you squint just so. the world begins to shift, your small head can’t comprehend why or how, but you know that it’s only temporary. the people you love surely love you back. your sister is as stubborn as you are, but she’ll come around— she always does. there’s no other possible outcome. you’re happy, and different, but full of hope.
— 4. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 magic is real and you’re soft and gentle and innocent, unaware of the madness of existence. you make friends, new friends who look at you with sparkling eyes and speak with love in their voices. you learn impossible things, you’re met with realities that once existed only in storybooks— you work hard, and you try, but one thing is certain : you’re finally home.
— 5. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 the world isn’t as rose tinted anymore, but you have faith. there’s terror in the world, pain you’d never imagined as a young girl : prejudice and hatred, people who cannot be redeemed. you see fire where once there was only smoke, see both your worlds start to simmer. but you breathe deep and your faith remains unshakable, because it’s all you have left.
— 6. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 you’re not soft anymore : ou’re strong, and full of fire, and you’re ready to fight. you know your worth, know your meaning after all these years— you’re not sure what comes next but you know you were born to do this. to rise up, to be a soldier, to help— you find purpose amidst the chaos. your faith remains, but this time it’s not faith in the world, but in yourself.
— 7. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 you learn that bravery is more than just a word, more than just a notion—- it’s a weight that fills your chest and keeps your lungs from working, it’s shaking hands and sleepless nights and the fear that you won’t be able to stand the next time your feet touch the ground. you made a choice, a decision that you thought was easy—- but that was before you knew that war is savage and you’re frail, scared and forgotten. hope is gone and you’ll fight because you want to, because you have to, but the faith you had in yourself is gone. you are not a soldier, but you pick up the rifle anyway.
— 8. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 you’re not sure what happened. you can’t pinpoint the second your life turned upside down, the moment where your future began to crumble. you remember finding love, holding friends, laughing at midnight. you remember faces paling, scars forming on young skin, tears on your shoulder. you remember burying the people you love so dearly, one by one. but you also remember holding your son for the first time and that keeps you going, because he’s your world. your faith shakes, its foundations crumbling under the weight of your own failures, but you’re stronger than all of it. you have to be— for your boys.
9. 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦-𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 …
