If I could go back in time, I’d hug the little me.


When I think of child-me, my heart breaks a little. I remember me, sitting with a story-book, in a little corner, watching the adults fight with each other. They  weaponised their words and turned them into little pellets of hatred that they flung at each other. Sometimes, I caught a few and digested them silently. I thought they went away, but years later I can still taste them at the back of my mouth, deep in my head.

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