I sat up for endless nights, staring into the imaginary mirror of perfection; just trying to get it right.
See, the mirror once struck fear into my inner ear.
I recall being a mess that year.
Looking into something that was so clear, I didn't understand why clarity showed no signs of being near.
Maybe the glass was fogging up from the steam that would leak from the seams of my pores - the doors to the things that I should feel more.
The numbness was an empty vein, but it sent a shock wave to my nerve endings.
It was in this moment, I knew the rest of my life was only pending.
I hated the message I had been sending.
So I backspaced into a new place with a new face.
When I went back to the mirror, the glass broke.
I listened to the sound of the shatter and it reminded me: I am my last hope.
I am the last note in the song you wrote to everyone who's told you "no".
I didn't know I could be so bold. Or maybe I did, but I had only been told.
I am no more than what I allow my soul to feel. I am no more than what I perceive to be real.
So here's the deal:

I won't conceal this passion until I'm in that casket. And even then, you couldn't bury me, when my legacy is my tactic.
But will you listen to my echoing voice? Will they send you the chills that I feel? Will you understand?

I will scatter my soul in all the grains of sand on which you'll stand, contemplating if you should have ever ran...

- L.G.