What can I say? I grew up. And I’m not sorry that I didn’t blossom into water lilies and peonies. I’m not sorry that I’m covered in webs of poison ivy and wisterias. I know you think you lost your little girl and you’re right. You lost her the moment she realized that this world would break her anyways if she didn’t break herself. And you know as well as me that in this world it’s better to stay broken and alive, because people can’t reflect upon a shattered mirror.