I’m a decade behind in mental documents, the kind that breeches all codes of present so vehemently it’s often mistaken as the actual.
The moments we don’t remember, but that are so deep in our corners and layered with patchwork and quick but organized fixes, we do not realize they exist.
But they do and we take them into everything that we do.
And until we let them surface- or recognize when they do- and feel them out and make the decision to let them go,
they will be our baggage.