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In a corner I sat with my knees tucked in tightly. The lights were off but for the kitchen light down the narrow corridor. While at the time my household used incandescent light bulbs, my eyes viewed the world in purple.

A dark purple it was, a dark, gloomy purple that perhaps had hints of a blue hue. So it was in this dark blue-ish purple that I could see. The colour of a new bruise, it seems. I don’t know why this world was so... injured in my eyes.

There I sat, alone, in a corner, curled up with no comfort aside from my own kindness.

Why would I consider myself kind, you might ask?

Because I was young.
Because I knew I couldn’t control my tears, my yells, my stupid arms reaching out for help.
Because I couldn’t rely on anyone and no one could rely on me.

Kind, I was, because when I cried, I cried loudly.
Kind, because no one liked to hear me cry.
Kind, because my cries were muffled when I was in that bruise-coloured corner.

In silence—or at least, in the most quiet state I could manage—I kept to myself. Even at such a young age, I blamed myself for everything. I was fault, probably, or else why would they yell at me?

Who yelled at me? I don’t remember.
Why they yelled at me? I don’t remember.

But, while I hate remembering bits of my past like this, I’m glad I can’t remember who made me sad and the reason behind it. I’m sure if I was able to remember such important details like that, I would break.

Maybe it’s a good thing to break. Maybe it’s hard to break broken things.

Heh, I’ve said that before.

“Lucia is unbreakable!” I remember someone saying. It was recent, only six or seven months ago.
“It’s hard to break something that’s already broken,” I joked to myself.

Oh, but it wasn’t a joke. I’m sorry for lying to you, dear readers. It wasn’t a joke at all.

But am I broken enough? Sometimes, I feel like I shattered into large pieces. Broken, yes, but not broken enough. And when I cry, I’m reminded of that.

I don’t want to be fixed, though. I was mended back together in grade seven, but my soul still possesses a multitude of cracks and irreplaceable holes of the purest void.

I want to be made anew. Is that possible?