Hey, I’m talking to you... Yeah you! The person holding my story. I’m Janna, I do not exist in your world, but I am alive and kicking inside this book. Here is my message to you: I hope you feel my happiness and joy, my sadness and grief, and live with me throughout this story.I was tied to nothing but memories, built up in a form of a bridge with a very strong foundation, that was broken and which no-one could cross, not even myself.Anyone who tried would fall through that fracture into...

Hey, I’m talking to you... Yeah you! The person holding my story. I’m Janna, I do not exist in your world, but I am alive and kicking inside this book. Here is my message to you: I hope you feel my happiness and joy, my sadness and grief, and live with me throughout this story.
I was tied to nothing but memories, built up in a form of a bridge with a very strong foundation, that was broken and which no-one could cross, not even myself.
Anyone who tried would fall through that fracture into nothing, but a pool of disappointments, and for those who loved me an ocean of hurt. I was in my own entrapment.
They say moving on is human nature, adoption, survival, second nature. I believed in adaption; my mind adapted in the amount of pain my heart was going through.
I believed in survival, I survived, and I still believed in moving on, but how did one move on when when the idea seemed like fiction? How could a person become whole again?
I felt like I were a large mirror that had given a full, perfect reflection, and had crashed down and broke into a million pieces, then somehow managed to fit back into shape, but no matter how hard I tried I could never give a perfect reflection again. I could never be the same. Freedom is a myth.