The Treasure Box

Once, my past lived in locked diaries inside a treasure box that disappeared, taking with it the written map of my early life. Then my treasure box was stolen, sunk into the currents. I used to think my past was lost, so I taught myself to build a new one. Not of wood, but flesh, from light, from pure love.
They took away my pages, but not my truth. My body is now my diary, mu children are my bookmark, and my treasure box – It learned to breathe underwater.