When I look back, I hear the sound of a child laughing, the blue sky and the sun accepting the child for who she is, a dreamer. I see her, soaring higher than the eagles. Her wings are beautiful, strong and resilient. She is a free spirit; freeing negativity from her spirit. The paint on her hands doesn’t bother her because she knows that it glows in the dark. Perfectly imperfect, she is in love with her diastema.

When I look forward, I see the very same girl only that her hair has gotten longer and she has gotten a whole lot taller. She is more reserved and on her arms are battle scars. She gasps for air because she knows that her fight isn’t over. I see a woman who can’t find beauty in her diastema, who doesn’t feel woman enough. Pressurised by the world, she laments because she is drained. There’s hope, light at the end of the tunnel. She smiles because she knows that all will be well.