27 years it took her to realize she wasn't alone;
she had herself.
But who was she? She felt more.
So she left. Alone like an iceberg, she was drifting away to thaw from her past. But once she found herself, she was far from solus.
She felt it. She could feel them. One was cold like it never got a chance to melt away the anger. One was warm, like a hug from a mother. Then there's herself. But is I the real me?
The cold one. The one who is always right can sense the impending doom of what is inevitable.
They call her mad.
The warm one. The one who drowned her sorrow in an unforgiving culture that slowly grabbed her legs and dragged her underneath the waves.
They call her a loony.
Did you know we can't feel wet? We can only feel temperature and pressure.
So, she feels pressure. She can feel the temperature bouncing from cold to warm, giving a sense of chaos. The same feeling she felt fighting to find out who she was.
The tide tore her into three.
So alas there is one who is kind, compassionate, and benevolent. They call her me.