Grace Mary Potts


My life is comprised of inconsistencies, daydreaming, procrastination techniques and occasionally, writing.

Message to Readers

This is a Work-In-Progress piece that I started during the "Personal Narrative" competition but never finished. The purpose - to show how this one thing actually ended up shaping my life in ways I never could have imagined it would. Have a read, let me know what you think and keep in mind that it's more the 'beginning' of the piece, rather than the whole thing. Constructive criticism is welcome and very much appreciated,

Small Beginnings

October 22, 2015


I don't have many memories of my childhood. But I suppose that's normal. 

The memory is faint now, for it has been nearing on nine years since. The words spoken then and the movements of those around me are vague and blurred by the breadth of years stretching between now and then. And what little I do remember bears resemblance to a series of out of focus photographs and a soundtrack of muffled sound. I cannot remember what was said, other than, perhaps, goodbye. See you soon. I love you. Too.

But regardless of what I have now ceased to recall - the sights and sounds and smells of my city's airport terminal as it was - I will never forget how I felt.

Because it was one of the first times in my life that I can remember feeling absolutely nothing. This one instance in my life when it appeared that all emotion had fled my body. Numbness has always been something of peculiarity to me, and it begs frustration when I experience it at a time that I really ought not to be.  And I really shouldn't have been feeling it at this particular moment in time. It felt... Odd that I didn't. I can still remember, standing there, hand clasped firmly in my mother's grasp, eyes locked on the gate doors, hoping in vain that I would feel something more. 

Anything at all.

And I recall standing in my room, months prior to then. Feeling the thumping of my heart in my chest. Hearing my mother's shaking explanations and seeing my father cry for the first time. A ringing in my ears stuttered by choking sobs and rivers pouring down my cheeks.

They'd called it 'separation.'

Nine years ago, when I was seven years old, my parents made the life-altering decision to get a divorce. At the time, it didn't really seem to be a big thing to me. But, as it turned out, it was. It really, really was.


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  • October 22, 2015 - 10:13am (Now Viewing)

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