What would you call the space in between the present and the past? Sometimes, you think it’s where painful memories seep into present thoughts, a door opening to a vortex at sea, engulfing all of your senses till you are stuck in the past with no way out but the present.
You’re constantly being drawn back into the past. You’re on the bus to your broadcast class, making a mental note to set up an interview, and then your mind wanders like a little duckling looking for its mother. Snap, you’re back to when you were thirteen years old and your stepfather broke your phone out of anger. You remember that anger deep within your chest, the magma rising and settling within your veins. You recalled how you were forever changed. But not in the way you wanted because, for the first time since making a pact with your 7-year-old self to never allow anyone to break you again, you broke it. Then snap! You’re back to the present and hate yourself a little more for forgetting and forgiving, for not valuing yourself enough to do more. And most importantly, for not having that someone who should’ve said something when you couldn’t breathe without molten lava in your throat, threatening to bubble over and out.