Speed

Sometimes I speed through things. I rush. I don’t look. That’s not true. Really, I look beyond whatever’s in front of me and on to the next thing pointing my eyes away from the object that’s staring me down. I speed through uncomfortable situations pushing on to the next item on the agenda. Moving quickly gives me the blindspots I crave. Speed paints a blurry picture of the truth. Add a little busy-ness and I don’t have to sit with the elephant in the room.

Right now, I’m running from the mirror. I cover my head up with the towel after my shower and then toss my bangs down as soon as I can. Then the wind catches me and makes me remember it’s about to expose the red lines on my forehead. So my legs battle the wind and carry me away faster.

But sometimes I can’t take the speed and I need to sit and absorb. To face the music. To look in the mirror. To stare at the truth. And I sit and I look and I memorize what it looks like so it can’t take me by surprise. Inevitably it still does. I see it when I least expect to and it cuts right through me.

I get that it’s a scar and in the grand scheme of this life, the life I’m watching play out in front of me, it’s no big deal. But I hate it and I can’t help it and I keep moving faster so I never have to see it…and then, neither do you.

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