I’ve set the line in the sand. I’ve drawn out my dreams in black and white. And now they are being coloured in. Like one of those magic colouring books, where the story is only complete in retrospect. The lines are continuous. They link one thing to another: people, places, ideas. Ideas that I’d never thought or heard of before write themselves across my page. The vague jottings, thoughts and feelings I marked out on the tiny bottom corner of my page begin to form a story. They begin to form a story in fluid movements as I flicker back my thumb over the pages of my life from now until long before. A story of how the little things has made the big thing beautiful. I will choose the way the lines are drawn; forwards and upwards. I can’t help but hope. The line continues and I will hold on.