Too little too long

We travel through life with our shortcomings in our pockets. It may not show, it may not be flagrant, but the little things that once made us feel so small, so unimportant or tragically deficient, remain tucked in warmly just under the skin, hibernating with one eye open, waiting for the stage light to hit.

“Not enough”. Two simple words that hit the spot, restart the itch we thought was gone and forgotten. Two simple words that once made everything not so simple, then tainted each moment since, just as they did the first time they scratched the delicate surface of our fragile build. Whether you were bullied, forgotten or let’s face it, just invisible, the scars of youth never totally heal; every victory is lightly bittersweet, every accomplishment incomplete, every smile overshadowed with years’ worth of tears. We carry our miserable pasts with us everywhere we go, spread them on every bite we take out of life, psychology proved it, and deep down we know it to be true: nothing we’ll ever do will truly conquer the fears or feelings of ineptitude our 5 or 10 year old self learnt to share meals with, no revenge on the past will ever fill our present incomplete states. We were innocent and they took something precious away from us, unhinged us and never safely bolted us back.

In the end, no matter how old or how strong life renders us years after our egos and self-esteem were cruelly scorched, there will always be a familiar little voice repeating: why now and not then? And what if it’s all fake, unreal, a mistake? Wounds of yesterday, scars of today, we may have won the battle…but many were buried along the way, and their ghosts still pace, restless, forever unanswered.


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