Run through the jungle
Frying fish laden with turmeric and chilli and salt, aromas thick with memories of my childhood rise. With them rise waves of self doubt, of sadness that seeps from the marrow of my bones. I’m choked by what-ifs and sliding-door scenarios.
In the garden, surrounded by life, growth, renewal, I hunch over, sucker-punched, winded. I gasp for air like I’m drowning. I am.
In the jungle of betrayal, thick with tangled questions, monsters lurk on every side whispering darkly of my failings, my inadequacies. The path to trust is jagged and broken, and requires faith in myself I cannot find.
This post was written for the YeahWrite #471 Nonfiction grid. Click the badge to read other entries.