Musings on Life and my Love of The Printed Word.

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My dear..

Shiloh was like the son I never intended to have. Funny, how unexpected things just become come and bring out the light,of our once ignorant thoughts. He was by far one of my fondest memory in my mediocre 60 years of existence. The boy was a machine, a sponge; to eager and too adventurous, even for his own good. But, like many of his child-like impulses and impatient candor, his heart was in the right place. 

I believed in that sentiment even now as he sat opposite next to me, in an orange jumpsuit. Our line of intimacy cut off by a transparent glass in between…


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I was clearing out the remaining boxes from my cupboard, when I came across a vintage looking photo that triggered something of a familiarity in me. The photo itself was clear enough, but the sides were worn off and the image somewhat dusty. I brushed it off and in it revealed a trip down memory lane..

The image showed a girl dressed in floral with some awkwardly tassels sewn in, completely adorned in pigtails and a massively audacious sash with the words ‘Happy Birthday pinned through. The young me was holding on to my mum’s hand, the other hand enjoyed holding my favourite cookies n’cream ice cream and dad’s hand was draped across from my arms. We looked at the camera, eyeing the photographer comfortably, posing like every bit the perfect family everyone around us assumed as to be. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Looking back, it seems obvious that my mother shouldn’t have made my eighth birthday celebration a garden party. My father and I initially agreed that it was going to be low-key and for family only type of gathering, but my mum persuaded us both. If it wasn’t for that party I would’ve still lived a lie in the confines of a prison which had entrapped me to what I had known as my supposed family…