I wonder how bad I messed up to claim so much years to fix myself. To come back as the same person but with enough reason. Not a cardboard standee. I want to be real. And if real demands going back to square one to establish roots then I won’t be ashamed to start again. To start again with no words. Like a little child trying to learn language and maybe with a vague hope. A hope to be eloquent through my struggle.
You don’t just conceal ignorance, you know. You admit it and do something about it. You don’t sweep debris under the carpet. You don’t cover dust with black paint. You don’t put more knots over a miscalculated knot on your knitting project.
You fix what’s left or where you left. If nothing works, you begin again.