At my birth mom said she could hear the angels singing. When I sing my soul rises through my stomach and eschews the remnants of whatever has been affecting it. I was an only child whose innate wierdness was compounded by the frequency of which we relocated.
Going through my nicknacks, throwing away the clutter, and boxing the rest was our yearly ritual.   Some things that I would leave behind proved impossible to let go of, and sometimes what I treasured the most would be irreparably damaged by journeys end. My formative years were for the most part beautiful. However, due to the eclectic mix which went into my personality i am still considered a bit odd in most circles. 
My moral compass doesnt always point due north, my priorities are not arranged In the order of monetary advantageousness, and i have very little control over my own selective memory.  I desire to love and be loved in return, but hearts have united, ripped apart, and sought to rejoin again my song has become one of confused longing for what it may never have.