One day I took my tainted past to a secluded park. I’d stopped working on it, pushed it to the back of my mind, where it became the ghost of my shadow, a secret too painful to keep. Now I laid it on the grass, a coward’s confession to a non-verbal audience.
All the while, however, the sky stayed sunny. The breeze did not avoid me. Squirrels did not start throwing stones at me. Trees rustle, birds chirp, as they always do. Their unanimous non-response startled the voices in my head, a quiet coup to their self-righteousness.
My recklessness, my mistakes, my so-called ruined-ness, now looks no bigger than a fly on the buddha’s shoulder. It hopped on the wind and rode away.
Quiet pooled around me like water, dissolving the cracked, dried stains of my life and carry away with it my fossilized tears.