This morning, I was putting photographs into the drawer. With a few minutes to spare I leafed through a few. My mother had given me a stack when she downsized. I came across one of me when I was 18. When it was taken, I had been pulling all nighters to finish a long forgotten stage set. Everywhere you can’t see I was covered in paint spatters.

My mother kept it on a shelf in the living room. I cringed whenever I saw it.  I despised that kid.  When visiting I purposely didn’t look. Ignoring it always eventually seemed wrong. So I made myself, I thought maybe I could desensitize my knee jerk negative reaction. But every time I failed, so I came to an odd truce. I’d allow myself to, made myself take testing glances.

This morning was different when I found it. I didn’t flip it over, I just looked and I felt affection for him. Not just a truce, but real peace.


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