the language we speak.
October 23, 2019
my childhood memoirs,
a language so effortless,
always bittersweet.
the picture perfect
family, but underneath
lies lost innocence.
always so loved, and
always on our tippy toes,
line forever blurred.
the scars and regrets,
invisible but still there,
a strong reminder.
my childhood memoirs,
are now the intricate roots
of my olive tree.