You told me it was terrible and you couldn’t understand it. The destruction of something beautiful, for no good reason. I suppose even a feeble attempt is commendable, so let me try to explain.
It starts with a thought, a tiny, insignificant seed of a thought, telling me it’s time. I ignore it, I stay away from it, I don’t touch it, I don’t tempt it, I don’t provoke it. I often run in the opposite direction, but the thought chases me and it grows. Then something happens.
Anything can be a trigger if you’re broken enough. It could be a malicious rumour spread by a jealous friend. It could be a vague comment from my mother spoken in her seasoned tone of bitter disappointment. It could be a well written song that sings too much truth of the past. It could be anything that hits too close to the…
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