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{our song is over and heavy}
Born on the morning of twenty-seven december, it's ironic that I've never been much a morning person. Mother said that it's precisely why I was born crying and kicking into this world in the wee hours of the morning - because I was woken up from the gentle lullaby of my mother's womb. Despite it all, mother insists that I was born out of love. It's how children are made - out of love.I am a dreamer. I put crazy amounts of firing neurons into thinking up fictional characters for my stories. I need more life experiences - I need to fall in love, I need to take a walk by the Eiffel tower, I need to see more of the world, I need to be someone who is needed. I've walked on the dingy side of life - failures, sadness, loss. I've also teetered on the bright side of it - small achievements, making that little girl laugh, wrapping up a gift for my best friend, sending dad a text message to brighten his day.I've asked mother a number of times why she named me what she named me. I was the anti-thesis of all that moniker stood for. I was a misnomer. "Peace". Having a name that meant briskly flowing rivers, morning dew and twinkling silver stars; I had to try to understand why they had given me such a burden as a name. I never understood why. But maybe now after twenty four years, I've finally stumbled upon it.Happiness: We rarely feel it.
I would buy it, beg it, steal it,
Pay in coins of dripping blood
For this one transcendent good.

- Amy Lowell.

Happiness, to me, is being alive.

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