Some
faces, memories, scents, certain incidents, words or the manner by which words
are uttered, have the power to transport us to another lifetime, a lifetime in
which we could have only existed through our old selves, an old self we casted off like an old garment. To be taken back, to be forced to wear that ill-fitted
hide once more makes us feel wretched and rough, like strangers in our own
lives, strangers in our own bodies, under our own skin.
Worst
of all, such a detested journey back in time, in the ghastly pages of the most vile
chapter of our life, our demons almost convince us that an improvement was never
truly made, that we have foolishly been deceiving ourselves, all that nonsense about
our miraculous transformation has been but a lie, another lie in the many deep folds
of lies life has shamelessly watched us spiral into.. However, morning sometimes comes with renewed perspectives
and less hazy views.. and sometimes a promise.
