Staring at the earth below the clouds in pretty pastel colors, the afternoon slowly morphs into night. I watch as pinks and oranges and every perfect shade begins to fade away into the baby blue sky, and the soft purr of the plane engine seems to be alive, changing tambour for every twist and turn.

It’s strange how the difference time can make. A year ago, I would be covering my eyes, closing the window, doing everything I could to be dark and silent and brooding. A year ago, I would be shutting everyone out and isolating myself and my bitterness, wallowing in depression.

But now? It seems as if I’ve changed. I live in the sunlight, quiet and introspective, but neither dark nor brooding. I have a voice, and I feel confident in using it. Finally, I can speak.

The memories still haunt me, though. Memories of bloodstains and waiting for failure. I can’t let it go; can’t make things right with my past self. I guess it’s a part of me – there seems to be nothing I can do to get rid of this ghost inside me.

But maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m not supposed to forget; maybe I’m wrong to think down on my past self. It’s a part of me, no matter where I go, what I do; now and forever. And although it’s the part of me I want to eradicate, the dark and brooding and silent and imperfect part of me, it should not be erased. It does matter, who I was before. That’s what makes me who I am. Shades of perfect come from every part of me, every chapter of my life. And that’s what defines me.

So as I stare out at the clouds drifting out into the permanent past, I realize they are still a part of the sky, a contribution to its beauty. Although temporary, they will be remembered by those who have seen them.

Its shades of perfect, and mine, will live on.