Dark Places

Can you really pinpoint the moments that changed your life? The events that make us what we are?

The days, dark days, special days or just different days that shape and mould the adults we will become.

Or is it just wishful thinking? Something or someone else to blame for our own inadequacies.

Can you really blame a seven year old bully for making us fear ridicule as an adult?

Can you blame the thoughtless adult because a careless word or two brings the insecurities crashing in?

Or is it all inside, bottled up, stemmed, hidden. Given the time of day only in the dark of night when no-one is there to pick fault or tell you to pick yourself up, pull yourself together, not to be so stupid.

When no-one is there to pick up the pieces, to re-assure, to still the echo of the seven year old child that is crying out to be heard, to be allowed to be without judgement.

When there is only you, only me, only ones self to ask the questions that will remain unanswered in the maelstrom of the quiet times.

Quelled by the arrival of the day and the need to move on, forgive, forget.

Until next time.