Your mom loved Alice in Wonderland, isn't it peculiar that I see myself in her? Tumbling down the rabbit hole, an unrealized self, landing in a realm of my thoughts, good and bad. Believing fate shaped it all, it was vibrant, storybook pop-up illustrations, and rhyming, dazzling prose. All along, it was me crafting everything into what it was. It was my imagination, my constant optimism that shaped you. My daydreams, my poems, my insistence that all would be well. Just like Alice waking up under the tree, I awoke one afternoon and realized I was the architect of it all.
