The Time Traveller
If I could, what would I say to myself?
Aged five. At the hospital, playing with my new sunglasses and viewing the world from behind sunshine yellow tinted frames,
whilst butterfies flutter inside my tummy.
”Mummy will live and laugh again.”
Aged fifteen. At secondary school, pulling down my skirt and getting to my feet, numb and hollow.
”It’s not your fault.”
Aged twenty nine. At the rented flat, feeling lost, unloved and unloveable.
”There is no need to feel guilty.”
Aged forty three. In my bedroom, curled like a foetus and aching with loss.
”It will pass.”
Aged fifty. Stood on the edge, bellowing, “There is terror in my head.”
”You are heard.”