chansen44
I walk slowly, deliberately up the stairs. I'm nearing the top, the door grows ominously bigger and bigger. My hand is on the doorknob, brass, and well worn from so many turnings. So many turnings that revealed happier prospects. The knocking returns and I know that my dilatory musings wont make the noise go away. With a deep breath to calm my frayed nerves, I turn the old doorknob and close my eyes, preparing for the blow of bad news that awaits me with the turning of a hinge and the sweeping breath of the outside air.
Bandages cover but fail to actually heal. They hide the wound and only cause me to wonder, "Whats going on under there?". Am I healing, or am I hiding reminders of the pain? As children, our pain is simple; we love the fun patterned bandages. They're a simple solution to our relatively simple plights.
I have so many advisers, solicited and unsolicited. The question is, "Shouldn't I be my own adviser?" and if not, why not? I can't see reason because I can only see from my own perspective. So forgive me if I think all advice is irrelevant.
Might I suggest we start over. Might I suggest that I might not always suggest and I might just start without any suggestion of fear.