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I’ve lost something, and I don’t know how to get it back;
I’ve lost someone to the dark, and to the clutches of the man in black.
I wonder when it was that I started to take life and people for granted;
I wonder when it was that the miracle of life and love became supplanted.
I have so often said of myself that I fall in love too easily, and that I care too much-
that I thrive on life and its infinite sights, sounds, tastes, and touch.
I am someone who really does look above and beyond the present and the now,
I am someone who really does look and see more than my eyes would normally allow.
I, however, do have a hard of time letting go of the past, and my memories-
I find it hard to say goodbye to a friend carried away like a leaf on a breeze.
I know that people move on, and that everyone’s time on Earth is finite;
but it is never easy to turn off the light, shut the door behind you, and say “goodnight”.
“No regrets” is the maxim to my life that I hold up high and try to live by;
but when I lose someone I love, I cannot help but lift up my eyes to the sky,
and simply ask one question: “why?”

A very small, and perhaps insignificant, fact about me,
is that I have a tiny, but noticeable, scar on my right knee;
“insignificant” now, but when I received my scar it was anything but-
however, I suppose it serves me right to reach over a guarded-fire for a nut.
Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the day that I got it:
I was about 7 years old- full of joy, full of life, full of love, and full of spirit.
To me a fire, especially a “guarded-fire”, was nothing to fear;
however, after my leg touched that metal guard, I admit I cried a thousands tears.
Even now, two decades later, the memory of that event still remains with me;
I wasn’t traumatised by what happened, but when I look at my scar it still reminds me.

Scar’s are our external, internal, prevalent, and unseen,
reminder’s of our lives, and where we have been.
Scar’s are important, sometimes painful, lessons to learn of our lives-
an indelible mark that our memory, emotions, and body, never fail to revive.
Just as a heart once broken never loves quite the same again,
the memory of an event that makes us take a step back is always one of pain.

If I have been scarred by one thing in my life, it happened on September 11, 2001:
the day when insanity and chaos took hold, people lost their lives, and nobody won.
On that day, I watched live on TV, what I saw as the world coming-apart at the seams,
and to this day, when I look back, I still don’t understand the motive, the mind, nor the means
of those who scarred not only the people of New York City, but the world itself-
those who, over time, became so alien of Humanity, that they couldn’t live with themselves.
Even after a dreadful and horrifying event the wounds that were made begin to heal;
the memories never go away, but we become experts at what we show and what we conceal.

Whether near, or far away-
Family is the gravity that binds everyone together like clay;
from Homo sapien hunter-gathers, to our present day society,
Family is the spice of life that is also known as variety;
Family is a connection to one another that is literally not skin deep,
Family is the language that you can speak to each other while still asleep;
Family is a love that vibrates from your DNA,
Family is a game that you don’t need to know the rules of how to play;
Family is where you return to when the path of your life twists and turns;
Family is the teacher which everyone looks to, listens to, and learns;
Family is the sail that rides the winds of the good times and the bad;
Family is the love that is constantly reciprocated by your Mum and your Dad;
Family is a touch, a feeling, an indistinguishable and necessary part of me-
to me, above all else, there is nothing like Family.

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