There's a strange feeling in the knowledge that one moment in your life
has forever changed it.
The way you answer certain questions.
The way you look at certain things. Certain people.
The way you feel about something you were so sure you'd been set in stone about.
You can't take the moment back.
You can't even change it.
You can't alter it, so that it fits snugly on the mannequin of expectations you had so carefully designed for it.
It's already happened, and you're still not even sure if it was real.
And the funny thing is, you'd always laughed and waited for the day when you could confidently announce that the moment wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But then it happened.
And there's nothing to announce.
In fact, every time you try and shrug it off, as you know you're supposed to, the tiny foothold it has in your memory replays itself, and something inside you does a wobbly somersault of.....of.....
What?
A blender full of loud and overpowering emotions that war against each other and threaten to overwhelm your entire being as they spin and collide against each other.
That's what.
What are you supposed to do with that?
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