I walk along in the early spring sunshine, and look down at my tattooed feet, free of tights for the first time since October, and I remember who I am.

I remember that I like who I am.

I sit in the hairdressers chair as she dries my hair, revealing the glorious purple shine, released from beneath the dull brown, and I remember who I am.

I remember that I love who I am.

I sit in a living room, drinking a cup of tea, whilst around me amazing people talk passionately about things we all I adore, and I remember who I am.

I remember that I am loved for who I am.

I remember, and I never want to forget again.