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That little box that says Do Not Touch

We all have regrets.  They may be large or small.  Normally they live on in a box tucked away on the upper shelf in the back of your mind.  Festering slightly but largely forgotten about and too far out of sight to cause any day to day trouble.

But every now and then you search out a ladder, climb it to the highest rung and forage around on tip toes in the depths of your brain for the box that you know will make you feel rubbish but you can't help yourself.  Like a wound itching beneath one of those old school brown plasters.

It would be nice to incinerate these boxes of regret.  Blast them into a furnace bubbling away at the ends of the Earth never to resurface.

But you can't.  One of my biggest fears in life is that when I get older (if I get that much older) I get alzheimers and these regrets play on vividly in my mind.  On a loop that might suggest they're happening right now.  In this second.  Of this time. 

Looking out through my eyes as they are at that great age but seeing the things from this decade.  Not being able to find the gap between skin and mask. Needing to realise that it's all gone before and I survived and the time will come when it's not all vivid definition technicolour hurt.

I can worry about a lot of things but that is one thing I must not worry about until the time comes.  What's done is done and that's just the way it has to be.

- Image by Vogue, Italy
                                              

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