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November 2, 2020
In my teens there were glimpses of pure joy. My memories of these years are quite better. I often imagine time itself being marooned in a faraway island—hopeless and content at the same time. Just moving along where no one can reach it. I look at my teenage years as if I'm a different person who experienced it. There was the shoplifting, the running around with questionable characters, plus more forgettable mistakes, and along these memories are all the times my parents forgave me. This time is made up of relief. Being able to breathe, knowing I was loved.