I just got finished reading this book by the late E. Lynn Harris. There were some truths that I came to accept while reading the book and in some way they awakened a spark of hope inside me. The book is about skeletons. You know the kind of skeletons we keep in our closets. The skeletons we hide while portraying a picture perfect existence to the world. Sometimes I think about what my life would’ve been like had I confessed some of my earlier wrong-doings. Be that as it may, there still isn’t a strong enough argument to convince me to leave myself wide open. I just know that I am not perfect and though I exude confidence and conceit to most, I know that deep down I have my own imperfections. Perhaps that is the driving force behind my continuous strife towards self-improvement.