𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏

There is a lump in my throat the size of a sandstorm and I haven't been able to swallow it since I was 16. I remember my childhood as a play where I was the pessimist. not by choice, but by necessity.

Everyone in my life had a way of projecting themselves onto me, their fears, their agonies, their what ifs and could be's. I became the canvas bearing their disproportionate hues. I became a reflection of their shattered hopes.

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I wish time were more kinder to me. maybe then my sensibility and reason wouldn't try to beat their wings as they prepared to fly away at every word, every remark, and every twisted smile. I felt robbed of the one thing that was mine- my childhood.

Most of my childhood was not in photos but in certain biscuits, the scent of rain on a warm pavement, the moon when it decides to follow me, and the lights of the day. Now I just retreat into myself. I find solace in these four walls. They don't live contrasting lives, all disorganized and stacked up on top of each other in the pits of my stomach.

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