Apologies not forthcoming, I opened Pandora’s Box. Inside was this stack of paper.
It was started as a little journal entry when my mind was troubled. I wrote until words stopped flowing, then I boxed it up as a rough draft and put it away.
I opened Pandora’s Box this morning because my mind is troubled once again. The only difference is I am older, maybe a little wiser, and certainly colder. Words that stung years ago cannot make me flinch.
What bothers me is knowing the impact those words have on our parents. It sickens me to the point where I have not slept. I forgot to eat yesterday. Upsetting our parents is what upsets me.
So, who am I protecting by not finishing this book?