Memories?

Cherish your memories, who you once were. That starry-eyed little kid who had such grandiose dreams and ambitions. We take our memories for granted, quite often I feel almost akin to what I surmise a amnesiac might. Sometimes in the short term, often in the long term. Whose body is it that I now inhabit? Who was this person before they transfigured into me? That little boy who didn’t realize that he didn’t have to live in denial of being transgender, who didn’t even know that was a thing. Who had thoughts and dreams and aspirations that I no longer can memorize. I often weep for that kid, for who I was before the weight of the world crushed his little spirit. I so often feel like I have stolen this body, that I somehow came in and usurped command and am left with only a hazy mirage of who it once was. Is it guilt that I feel, or pity? — Roxas

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