The 7 year old me was riding the swing, putting myself into an exaggerated flight each time my feet touch the ground. Some time ago, my sister and brother were here, talking about our recent trip to UK and how much they liked it there. I was listening to them, just as I listened to them talk about everything. Now I was alone here, I could go as fast as I liked, without anyone to stop me. I closed my eyes and felt the thrill of the swing in the air. I always love it so much!
I opened my eyes to a scream, which was not my own. I saw my sister standing there pointing towards the ground. I saw a small puddle of blood under me. I stopped swinging, horrified. When the swing came to a halt, I looked at the bottom of my foot to trace the origin of the bleed. I had a 5 inch long thorn that impaled the center of my foot. It was horrifying in the most comical, cartoonish fashion. I looked between my sister's face and the the piece of the thorn jutting out from my foot. The horror in the atmosphere was my cue to cry. I cried and cried and felt the pain only then.
This is the second time it something like this had happened to me. My tears came after my pain was validated by someone else.
Perhaps this was not the last time. Maybe the tears will come again. Some day.
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