She was living in the days she lived in fear of.

As she turned into a workaholic, she looked back on all the carefree, impossible years when she hadn’t been turned into the person she was now. As she found less and less time for herself, in her silent moments interspersed in the raucous clamour of her life, her thoughts became finely attuned to days and weeks and months of sunlit basketball courts, frequented by all manner of soul sisters, acquaintances and nemeses alike, along with whole aeons consisting of moving polished wooden chess pieces across a board under the table as she struggled to conceal a little game from a teacher at the head of a little classroom.

Why did the memories so close to her heart seem so distant?

As she smiled at these fond memories over coffee, the corner of her mouth dipped a little into a frown and the crinkles between her brow became more pronounced. The coffee abruptly started tasting more bitter and scalding than refreshing and she set down her cup on the saucer firmly, as she struggled to fight off the regret and inevitability of a childhood being in the past.

Had the futility of dwelling over a lost cause always been there?

As her mind consoled her with the vapid and overused consolation which speaks to her of time and its spending versus its passing, another part of her argues back viciously at the incontestable fact that she has fewer decades in her calender than there are letters in ‘in’, and the flowing of these years had barely a boulder to mark the length of the traversed river. She had no way of knowing when the innocent brooke would plunge down the waterfall and life would be too hard and too fast to survive.

Why did nobody come out of life alive?

As she sent back her finished cup of coffee she checked her watch and the outrageously long ‘to-do’ list, put a cork on the vial of thoughts bubbling away maliciously like a witch’s cauldron, ceased her soliloquy of the amalgamation of randomized accumulated thoughts, and gathered up her files and folders. She realized she was too much of a workaholic to spend adequate time in comtemplating it.

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