Betrayed by birth


Here’s what many people don’t know about the “wonderful institution of adoption”….My birth certificate is a legally falsified document. Yes. You read that correctly. It is probably THE only LEGALLY falsified document allowable by law in the entire nation.


The birth certificate that I have to use for everything uses a name that I was NOT born with and it states the names of parents that I was NOT born to. Merely by being born I am betrayed by the nation because of the decisions that everyone else made for me. My true identity is legally falsified and betrayed by my national government and by the establishments that decided on this procedure.


As adoptees, our original and true birth certificates are sealed and locked away. We are not ALLOWED or entitled to have them. Even now that some states are beginning to pass legiature to open adoption records, this is still misleading as I found out in 2017. New Jersey (after going several rounds with vetoes and changes to the bill) finally opened the records. This is the stated where I was born. This finally entitled me to my original birth certificate. Since I was already in touch with my birth families, I knew that none of their information would be redacted from the records (which they gave a year and a half from the time the bill was passed for birth families to come forward to have their information redacted).

When I finally received my original and true birth certificate that had the name I was born with and the mother I was born to (my father’s name was kept off of it, but that’s a separate issue), it was just a copy and had stamped all across it, for informational purposes only.

And here’s one even better than that…Since 2011, they changed the laws for obtaining a Passport in the US. One of the regulations has created such a problem for many adoptees to the point that many adoptees are being denied passports due to their birth certificates. This is true information as I looked it up myself. If I didn’t already have a passport, I would be in that category of people. That stipulation is that the date of the birth certificate must be filed within one year of the date of birth. Mine was filed a year and 10 months after my date of birth. And I was adopted at 2 months old. The reason this is a problem for almost all adoptees is because of the amount of time it takes for the adoption to be finalized due to the home inspections of the adoptive family and the court proceedings and filing of paperwork and such.


All of this just to keep my own information a secret from me, to protect everybody but me, and I (and other adoptees) are the ones who suffer the consequences in the end. We are betrayed simply for being born. All of the people we first encounter in our lives, including the nation we live in, all fails to provide us with what everyone else is entitled to simply by being born.


Adoptees are not really permitted to mourn our loss. We are expected to be grateful to our adoptive family for ‘rescuing us”.


Most people like to use the smoke and mirrors that adoption is an altruistic notion where adoptive parents must all be saints who give a child who is parentless a home and love that child like their own. But the reality is often that many couple’s first tried to have their own biological child and failed. Adoption was the back up plan. We were the sloppy second choice.


And then on top of knowing, and some of us being told that we were paid for, we are then told how our adoptive parents would feel betrayed if we were to search for our birth families because they are the ones who raised us, they are our parents.


But my DNA never betrayed me. I knew who I was all along, deep down. I’m just like them and nothing like you, no matter how hard you tried. And you couldn’t convince me that I would be betraying you if I found them. I just did it behind your back, and you’ll just never know now.



If there is no question…

Q&A AA.jpg

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

A very common philosophy problem/argument. If no one is aware that the tree has made the sound, does the sound in fact occur? Some have answered the question stating that it would not make a sound. Their reasoning for this is that sound is something that only occurs in a human ear when something (air or object) is set in motion. Therefore, if no one is in the vicinity to observe with an ear, to input the motion of the tree, the the tree would not in fact make a sound.

However, the tree will make a noise (which is a hearable noise), even if no one is around to hear it. The noise would be hearable IF someone was around to hear it.


Sometimes we, as a human nature characteristic, become frantic when we get caught up in our desperation to solve our problems when everything seems to be going wrong. We start trying to fix every single thing and begin trying to change everything in our midst. We respond with frustration and anger and turn everything in to a huge philosophical problem that, like the tree making a sound question, we go around and around with and see no end or solution. Sometimes, we need to stop asking the questions, and stop trying to fix everything and work towards acceptance. If we constantly focus on all things negative in our lives, that is what we will continue to dwell on. In doing this, a negative cyclical pattern emerges.


Conversely, pondering the first meme posted on this writing….Sometimes, when you simply surrender, and quiet yourself, answers will appear. Even when you have not asked a specific question, or if you have asked a very generalized question a very long time ago and stopped searching for the answers, often times something will come along in your life and you will not even realize that was the key or one of the components that was missing. That was one of the turning points when it wasn’t ever something on your radar when you had tried so very hard to change everything that you thought was plaguing you.


Or when you’re Sheldon Cooper from the “Big Bang Theory” and your formulas or theories “just won’t coalesce”. Sometimes after pounding formulas or thought processes from the approach you think it should logically come from for what seems like forever, when you’re on the brink of giving up, maybe you have given up, and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, the answer itself, or the method for solving the problem comes to you.

My music research project illuminated a problem with an answer to a question I was never even asking in the first place. I saw the answer first which made me ask the question next.

If there is no question, or if you are not asking the right question, is there an answer? What is the answer called if the answer came before the question? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? All of the problems and solutions the thinkers of the world grapple with frantically, until they decide not to.

Gender Bender


Sometimes, the situations in which I find myself in my little microcosmic world are quite reflective of the current events and social climate of the concurrent macrocosmic world. I found myself in one of those situations tonight during my anniversary dinner at the Cheesecake Factory.

My daughter who is 10 years old has Asperger’s Autism. It is very common for children with this Disorder to have gender identity issues. Boys often are more gentle in nature due to their issues with coordination, so sports are not something that interest them. They often don’t understand the jokes that are being made when other boys are poking fun at them, which often makes them come across like a “sissy” to the other boys who are used to teasing each other and fighting back. It is often how boys play, by roughhousing with their bodies and their words. Boys with Asperger’s then find themselves relating more with the female gender who are much milder in manner.

Girls with Asperger’s, on the other, are not usually interested in dolls and dress up in the same way that the other girls their age are. They tend to gravitate towards the more boyish toys and games like cars, star wars, pokemon and Minecraft. They find these games and toys far more interesting. They are also easily annoyed by their hair. They typically like to keep it long and all one length so they can put it in a ponytail all the time, or they want to cut it short like a boy. Low maintenance is the key with the girls. They don’t like the feel of girl clothing due to their tactile sensitivities.

I knew my daughter had gender identity issues before I even knew she had Asperger’s. She began showing signs of this from the time she was 4 and would talk about how she wished she was a boy. Now, at 10, she wears almoat all boys clothing and she has cut her hair so short that it spikes up. Aost everyone thinks she is a boy.

People continuously call her a boy in my presence. I just ignore it, unless it needs to be corrected for a purpose, such as boarding a flight so that when they see her name that they don’t try to tell me that the name doesn’t match the child I am with. My daughter gets embarrassed very easily. She doesn’t mind being called a boy, but she hasn’t necessarily told us she wants to be addressed as one, or told us she wants us to call her our son or anything. But she doesn’t like us pointing it out to people that they were wrong. That is what embarrasses her. She’s in a weird sort of limbo right now and it is very hard for her.

She loves her short hair and has honestly felt better about herself and more comfortable in her own skin since she cut it. She doesnt have many friends at school, and never has. And that upsets her, but she has said that this year, on the whole, has been her best year yet, and she seems to attribute it to the fact that she cut her hair I think. And I don’t think it’s because the kids treat her any differently. I think it’s because she sees herself differently and feels better about herself. She feels more congruent.

However, one of the biggest issues she seems to run in to is with the bathroom. She is highly uncomfortable going to the bathroom in public. In school, she has had kids give her looks and say stuff to her about why she is going in the girls bathroom. In public restrooms people give her looks and she is now asking me to come with her again all the time, even though we had just started loosening the reigns and letting her go herself. Enter world of judgment…..

Tonight when my husband and I went out for our anniversary, we took her with us for dinner to the Cheesecake Factory. We had already had our alone date on Friday, so we were just celebrating a little on the day of with a dinner and brought her with us because we don’t have many sitter options, so getting out alone is a commodity for us. While we were there, she needed to go to the bathroom and asked me to go with her. Right as we were about to leave, I held the door open and fro. The outside, you could apparently see her and not me, and an older man begins to walk in to the ladies room. And he had a confused look on his face. When he saw me, I pointed to the door across the way and said the men’s room is over there. He said, oh ok, I was confused because I saw him (and pointed to my daughter a bit condescendingly-as if she shouldn’t be in there (as a boy) at that age). Needless to say, my daughter was highly embarrassed by this encounter.

As it is, my daughter already has a ton of things to struggle with every day. I really wish people would think before they speak or give condescending glances sometimes. And of course, that’s in addition to all of those who think having gender identity issues is some mark of Satan to begin with. I did not push a gender roles on my daughter. If anything, I pushed femininity on her. She still has a princess bedroom (that she despises). A 4 year old who knows nothing about the word transgender doesn’t chose this difficult life just to be trendy. My daughter is the furthest thing from trendy. She truly feels like she is trapped inside the wrong body. This has already lasted more than half of her young life. It is not a phase she is going through. She is not going to outgrow this. She moves closer and closer to dispelling all girlish things from.her life with every passing year. This year she has asked for a new Easter basket because the one she has from infancy is pink and frilly. Even things that hardly any one but the family sees, she wants to be boyish.

Transgender issues are such a hot button topic right now in the macrocosmos of society, and my little microcosmic world is playing out many details of the struggle right before my eyes. And the struggle is heartbreaking. Especially when it is your own child. And especially when that child has a plethora of other issues to handle on a daily basis as well. Please world, show some compassion. If there is any question in your mind and a child possibly looks androgynous, use a generic “sweetheart” or “buddy” or “kiddo” to address them just to be on the safe side, something that could possibly go either way. And pretty please, for the love of all that is good on this Earth…don’t give a kid or a person a weird look if you think they’re going on the wrong bathroom. They should know where they’re going and are probably right. How do you know anyway if that child isn’t a little girl who is just growing her hair back after chemo treatments???


Father Time


When the daily word prompt of “noise” came up a few weeks ago, it prompted me to look back in to my college assignments because there was a paper I had written that I knew fit that topic. In doing so, I began re-reading through all of my old writings and I was quite astounded at the time warp I went through, in many different aspects. In some ways, I was blown away by my progressiveness as a 20 year old (which was 20 years ago), reading through other papers I lamented that I felt I had almost lost some of my intellect. I realized, after percolating on that one for a while, that due to my career that involves constant interaction with children, that certain areas of my brain just haven’t been stimulated as much in recent years. I am finding those areas re-stimulated by writing this blog, and for that I am eternally grateful. Another aspect that I found to be quite notable as well in my time warp is that some situations in my life haven’t changed a bit. This facet is the one I would like to impart today. I quite literally LOLed when I came across this following Sociology paper because the title of the paper is literally what my monthly goal to work on for the month of March was that is written on my chalk board at home.


Hereis my Sociology paper from my Undergrad…(the memes are added post script, aka:now!!!)

Time Management
The topic of time management is currently one that is quite a problem in my own life. Many people either go to one extreme or another in my experiences. There are those who take on too many tasks, and those who are very lax in their approach to life. With most people I know who take either route, no one is completely happy with how they manage their time. This concept follows the saying that the grass is always greener on the other side of the mountain.

I am the type of person who takes on more then I can often handle, and then I am faced with how to balance my time. When people become overwhelmed they are often offered the advice to make a list in order of top priority to least important priority of the lot. I try to set priorities and take care of the tasks highest on my list, but this is quite a problem for me because I have a difficult time deciding what is more or less important. If I didn’t feel something was worth my time I would not take it on, but because I do, you can see why this decision is tough for me.
I then attempt to make a list of what needs to be done first chronologically, but as I am at this current moment, I am often swamped with everything to be due at once. Once again, I use a cliché to describe this situation. When it rains, it pours.

Once again I am faced with another decision of how to get everything done so I look to set up a schedule where I can devote time to each task on hand. But, it is quite difficult to plan ahead because things always come up unexpectedly and change the course of one’s pre-charted destination.
I am then faced with the decision that I must make sacrifices in order to accomplish everything in due time. This again is a most difficult chore because although I do have some time to sacrifice, that time is my last spare moments of “free” time that I often spend with friends, or by merely relaxing. I feel that this is also an essential part of my wellbeing because if I was to work every waking moment without time for relaxation and fun, I would breakdown and not be able to function properly. Yet, if I were to sacrifice that fun time, I may not be as stressed because I would be getting everything done on time.
For people like me, I feel that we would not be as fulfilled if we did not take on as much as we do because we would feel we would be missing something. Yet if we take care of everything in a timely fashion, we are required to sacrifice “fun” time in order to accomplish all the tasks we have taken on, and that is self-defeating when we are speaking of fulfillment.

Now to look at the other side of the coin, there are those who are quite laid back in their ideals on how to handle their time. Many people I have spoken with who take things as they come, and don’t go out of their way to accomplish them are often unhappy as well. They often feel they do not have enough initiative to complete the necessary tasks in life and this disturbs them. Yet, they don’t seem to desire, or maybe even know how to take action. These people are not go-getters, but they do not stress as often as the compulsively busy people do.
So where is the happy medium in all of this? This is quite a question because it varies from person to person. If one changes from one extreme to another, he will often find the grass is not always greener on the other side, but it is quite difficult to find a perfect mean between the two extremes of behavior. And if one decides one wants to take action and change his ways, how does he go about breaking his already known ways. This is a very difficult task because we do not know whether the difference between a fast paced busy-body and a laid back person is genetic or learned, and that, I believe, is what we must first find out before anyone can make that change.

End paper…..

You can see even then I was questioning what was my genetics and what was my environment, due to being adopted. The questions ran so deep and permeated everything I did. I now know the answers in some ways. I know I am highly genetic in that I am very much like my birth parents. In this particular topic, I will say that my adoptive Dad is very motivated and my adoptive Mom is not. Both of my birth parents are highly motivated and hard working people. So I would say that it is a very difficult trait to “unlearn”  or reverse.


In recent years, I have been trying to learn how to say no more often, especially to things that I really don’t want to do and I am trying to learn how to prioritize a little better. One thing that remains is that I am still often inefficient with my time.

I realized only a few years ago that I do have ADHD. I never realized this and I got by fairly well as a child. I did well in school and learned techniques to get by. But in some ways, I think the pressures of being an adult seem to have brought out the worst in me as far as this syndrome goes and it became quite apparent that I was either more of a flake than I thought or there was something else going on. And it finally came to light that I did have ADHD. And look and behold, when I found my birthdad, I came to find out that my birth brothers had it. So that is genetic to me.

I had dabbled with medication for it and have gone on and off for various reasons, cost kept changing and at times was very steep, at one point they made my Dr write special letters to explain why I needed it. It became more of a hassle than it was worth. I just went back on it again this month and luckily neither of those things are an issue anymore. With the medication I do find I am able to stay on task a bit more and get more accomplished. I am more efficient with my time and I also seem to have more well formulated thought processes as well. Things seem to connect better for me in my brain that never did before. For example, I’ve seen the movie Inception a few times now. I often forget people’s names from movies. One would think I would remember the girl’s name in particular from this movie though for starters. Her name is Ariadne. I named my clarinet Ariadne in high school and since then I have used that name as an alias and in many things, including as my business name (Ariadne’s Music). So, forgetting that tragedy that I couldn’t even remember her name, my husband got me the totem of the little top that Leo DiCaprio’s character carries with him for our anniversary and gave it to me this past weekend.


So it got me thinking about the movie and I only realized that her name was Ariadne when I looked up the movie to look up what her totem was and then I was disgusted with myself that I had forgotten her name again. So beyond that, what I was really getting at with how the ADHD meds had helped me was that last night I was watching the new show that I am binging on, The Librarians, and this episode dealt with the Minotaur and the labyrinth and the string. This is Ariadne’s story, though they never make mention of her name. All of a sudden it Dawn’s on me the connection between the name of Ariadne in Inception and why she is named as such. Because she creates the labyrinth within the dreamscapes of Inception. It abhors me that I never figured that out before considering I am so well versed in the story of Ariadne. And it never once came to me while I was watching the movie Inception. It took ADHD medication to bridge that gap in my brain and an episode of another television show that dealt with a labyrinth and a similar setting, somewhat, to make this connection. My brain is fascinating sometimes.

However, I am most inefficient with my words as well. I collect quotes because I admire those who can summarize a worldly concept and be so concise in thought as to do it in just a line or two. They can get across a punchline that it would take me an entire dissertation to expound my thoughts. Some day I hope to learn the art of being succinct. That day is clearly not today!!!

Just a spoonful of applesauce makes the medicine go down…


I. Can’t. Swallow. Pills. I’m a grown-@ss 40 year old woman and I can’t swallow pills.

Of all of the psychological damage my Dad pulled on me when I was younger, this is definitely the most pervasive and the most over-all traumatizing. It is something I have never been able to get over and it is something I have to face every single day of my life. I start my day with it. And even if I don’t consciously think about, that is engrained in my physiological being. Even if I have accepted it as my way of life in my brain, it still pervades my psyche in ways that I don’t think I even realized until just recently.

When I was 6, my Dad decided that since the bottles of medication said 6 year olds could start taking medicines that were swallowable, that it was time to start making me try. So he got me one of the cups at some point, like the one in the picture at the top of this post, and had me start trying to swallow pills. Whenever I couldn’t do it after those first few times (at whatever point he deemed it to be ridiculous that I should be able to by his own timetable), he began to yell at me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. that it didn’t happen. He never stopped to think that the split uvula that I had (which they knew about), could have affected this.


(Sorry for the graphic grossness-don’t worry not my actual mouth, lol)


I never had any trouble eating, but my voice does sound nasal, and it was particularly nasal when I was a child. But my Dad doesn’t think outside of himself for a hot second. All he could see was the inconvenience and the failure of his daughter to achieve something so simplistic and commonplace. Then again, had he have figured out back then that it was due to my split uvula, it would have only given him more fuel to the genetic fire to blame my shortcomings on my genetics, since he was my adoptive father, and boy did he love to point out all of the things he disapproved of in me and pin them on my genetics. So maybe it was for the best that he never figured that one out, because it would have never turned in to a reason for compassion anyway.

My split uvula causes me no troubles with normal eating because I can chew my food up as much as I need and then swallow whenever I am ready to. But it does cause a horrific gag reflex for me. Which is the problem it causes when I try to take pills. And then add in the psychological damage my Dad added in to that, and it was a recipe for disaster. The only way I can take pills now is to take them with a spoonful of applesauce. I can even put multiple, large pills in one tablespoon of applesauce. But it is the function of the spoon to hold my tongue down and force the pills and applesauce which masks the feel of the pills to the back of my throat. I can even take a very small pill if needed in a teaspoon of liquid, it is the spoon that is the key, to hold down my tongue. When they need to swab my tongue if they are doing a strep test at the doctor’s, they HAVE to use a tongue depressor or they absolutely can’t get the swab done because my tongue will snap up in the back every. single. time. Because it makes me feel like I am gagging. When they made the mold for my top retainer with that huge metal tray, just wow. What a horrifying feeling that was.

I’m sure that swallowing pills would have been hard for me no matter what. But I’m sure that with patience I would have figured out a way to get around it. But the psychological damage is so deep now that it causes anxiety if I do try. When I decided to look for this cup shown at the top of this post a couple of months ago, when I was thinking about it, I wasn’t prepared for the reaction it would bring when I found it. It actually caused a mild physical panic attack.

Whenever I go on vacations, I have to either pack applesauce and a spoon or remember to buy it if we are going to a grocery store. I have a spoon packed in the car and in my purse so that I can take my migraine pills in a spoonful of liquid anywhere I am (they are small). It invades my life that much. And it is a constant reminder that I was a failure at something so commonplace that most people on the planet are able to accomplish at some point in their life. Every morning when I am taking my pills in applesauce, my 10 year old daughter (who could do it at 8) is swallowing her pills with water. It is all just a constant reminder of how I can’t beat this, of how I can’t overcome, despite how much I have survived and how much I have worked myself through on my own. It is a daily reminder that even though I have succeeded in life where many people would have ended up in a straightjacket with some of the circumstances I’ve endured, that I still can’t fix this aspect of my life. It is beyond disheartening. No matter how many psychology books and articles I read, no matter how much I educate myself on all of these topics, no matter how many other traumas I have risen above throughout my life, I can’t seem to conquer this one. And it makes me feel so weak, no matter how many ways I spin the information in my head logically.

Now if you’ll please excuse me, it’s time for me to go take my spoonful of meds…


Restaurant Catering


From the time I was pretty young, it always bubbled underneath the surface. Eating meat felt inherently wrong to me. If I stopped to think about it, I quickly fell down the rabbit hole. While I’m on the topic of rabbits, it was even so apparent that anything that looked like an animal would get under my skin. I used to save alot of my chocolate bunnies at Easter time because I just couldn’t eat them because it made me think of eating animals in some strange way (even though I intellectually knew it was just chocolate), but because they had faces on them, and I knew I couldn’t control eating meat at that point in my life, it seemed like something I could have some control over in some ridiculous way in the mind of a warped 8 year olds mind.

About a year and a half ago, I decided to finally try being a vegetarian to lessen some of the guilt I felt in my life (guilt is a real issue for me). I made it several months without eating any meat at all. But there were certain situations that made it very hard. And because of those situations, I have modified my diet in to what I call (thanks to a former student of mine for coining or passing along this term) a Flexetarian. I eat animal meat on certain occasions but try to refrain when I am just at home on a day to day regular basis. I eat meat on special holidays that involve traditional meals such as Thanksgiving. I eat meat when I am at other people’s houses so that I don’t have to imposition anyone, or make anyone feel uncomfortable due to my own decisions in life. My husband also is more of the chef in the family and he enjoyed making specific meals and was very disappointed when I chose to become a Vegetarian because it would mean missing out on sharing those meals with me, and I didn’t like seeing him disappointed or feeling as though we were losing something we enjoyed doing together (including going out to eat and often sharing meals etc…)

Which brings me to my last reason for modifying. I am a picky eater. And it was often hard to find things at restaurants that I could eat or modify or that would be satisfying beyond a side garden salad. I really feel that restaurants need to implement a couple of different universal standards in their menus. There are certain groups that I think they should have options available for as the numbers within these groups increase. I think there should be some options that are peanut free, as this is a life threatening allergy that has increased exponentially. There should be options that are gluten free. There should be options that are vegetarian and/or vegan. And I think for those 3 categories that the options should be meals that are fairly base standards that could please a good majority of people or could be added to should others want extra flavor, like a build your own pasta type options.

And then I think for kids menus there should be certain standards in every single restaurant. I was honestly ASTOUNDED when we went to the Be Our Guest restaurant in Disney World, a place that caters to children, and even though they are looking to have a hoity toity ambience, their selections on the children’s menu were all abominable for a child who is a picky eater. And my child is a picky eater, not because I’m a bad mom and wouldn’t refuse to be a short order cook and gave in to her and didn’t force her to have what we were having, but because she has Asperger’s Autism, and textures bother her and smells bother her. She’s even picky about types of pizza. There’s only about 2 places she’ll eat pizza from. It’s not because she’s a spoiled brat. She’s very sensitive. I think every restaurant should have the following on children’s menus: (and no, these are not all things my kid eats, but things I think would cover almost all bases)

Hamburger/Cheeseburger, Chicken Nuggets, Hot Dog, Mac and Cheese, Grilled Cheese, Pizza Slice (Cheese or Pepperoni), Spaghetti (with option of meatballs or meatsauce or just sauce).

Forgive me if I am forgetting another large category of “special eaters” out there. That isn’t my intention. I hope that I do not come across sounding like a Veruca Salt spoiled brat that feels like the world needs to bend it’s ways to everyone. I just feel that these groups of people have either health issues or a world philosophical reason that is worth having a standard menu that can be counted on being at any restaurant they visit, and then hopefully more available within that restaurants particular cuisine as well for each subsection. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, but then again, I’m not in the restaurant business. And maybe I am a stuck up food snob that is perpetuating some of the rigidity that is rampant in the world today. But my parents were the type that made me sit at the dinner table till I finished everything on my plate and made me eat everything they ate (the only thing they spared me was the liver-thank God). But, everything my parents made me try as a kid that I didn’t like back then, I still don’t like as an adult. The only exceptions to that are that I like some of those things of they are prepared differently than how my mother cooked and prepared them (ie: caramelized onions (which I now like) vs. onions just thrown in every dish raw and cooked in the meal- or raw onions in my tuna fish sandwiches-which I despised). So, that method didn’t do anything for me. I liked what I liked…Period.



Always envisioning,

Dreams so hazy,

Looked in the mirror

Searching each feature

To find traces of what you might look like.


Strangers told me

I looked like my Dad.


Spoke like my Mom

(Edith Bunker voice-maybe no)

My identity adrift,

You, both faceless.

“How I want to see you clearly, come closer than this. But all I remember, are dreams in the mist.”

I finally found the courage

To follow my dreams.

I no longer scan crowds

Looking for a face

That reflects my own.

I see myself in both of you.

No longer faceless.


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