EVERY HOOFPRINT

was a middle schooler when my mom took my brother and me to Gettysburg, P.A. I looked at the big field blankly, being too young to comprehend its magnitude.

I often see my adolescence as a well-worn, tattered tapestry or a dirt-stained quilt. The fabric is woven with trial and error lessons, backbreaking work, and long, tiresome hours. After some time and exposure to the rays of the sun, the colors of said quilt have become bleached. Seams split and worn out frays add to its layered texture. I often lament how this tapestry of my adolescence used to be in its humble beginnings. Perhaps in speaking of innocence, I’m speaking of a

Welcome to Azam’s literary scrapbook. While most photo albums consist of pictures, this scrapbook will be full of words. It’s not quite a diary, although in appearance it may read like one. Here remain calculated entries of memories, adolescent lessons and human experiences translated into literary meaning. There is no other place to begin such a series than with someone I know who has been there for it all. For me, she ties many loose threads together. In life friends often