Not very long ago, I liked to think of myself as fragile. That I need somebody to pull me out of the depths I sink myself into was a thought I constantly gained pleasure from. I used to dream of living in a fairytale. I used to have faith in the supposedly evermore lasting of love. But time has taught me, and many others, that I’m not the person you fall in love with for a lifetime. I demand attention and I will be gone long before you realise that you should’ve given it to me. I’m not the sun you see everyday. I’m the yesterday’s beautiful sunrise you get to know about from your friend, making you regret a little for sleeping too much. I’m not the darkness in the night sky, but the entire night sky itself. It’s you who needs to be in the right place to see the parts of me you saw last night. I’m not flown by the wind or driven by the oceans. My roots go deep into the earth, deeper than you can fathom. No one understands me, and no one will. I’m an enigma. I’m an implausible path to a secret garden, and no one yet has found the way.