The past can only hurt you if you let it. And I let it time and time again. My guard comes down. And my save-face is pounded like a pound of beef steak. Every failure. Every discourtesy. Every Hail Mary that hit the turf with a resounding thud. Every night spent outside looking in. Balls up its fingers into a fist. And strikes. Blow after blow.
You cannot box with days gone by. You cannot punch a shadow. But it can punch you. No matter how many times I re-stage a fight. The outcome is always the same. Defeat. Wounds I thought long healed. Open again. Scars burst with new blood. The heat of moments long gone burns anew. The second I turn my head backward. I am vulnerable.
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