When I look back on what could have been such carefree, happy days in my childhood, I see a film scratched in static. The worry ripped and tore through it. I have shreds of worry, not a life to look back on. It can't happen again. I let it. I see it.
But these are the days of blossiming love. The flower I once thought would choke and die, flourishes so brightly and breathes so easily. When I look back, do I want to see the short, precious days wasted under clouds of needless stress? My first days back in the world! Pushing my way through the crowds of people, wending my way to my corner against the wall to watch them swarm and their lives unfold about me like a storybook, and having this wasted and crowded away by lonely worry...
No. No. I cannot be a victim again. I will not be a casualty. I will open my arms and accept life. Reject the death which is worry.