Flashbacks are funny things. They lie in a dormant disguise of memories and emotions buried, an inert but silent ache that stays constant, as sure as the heart which beats with each passing second. So long as they remain unearthed, they are deceptive liars that mask themselves with Time. For a moment, you whisper self-assuredly, I’m okay, I’m alright.
All it takes is a certain line, a familiar scene, a random tune you hear as you walk down the street, a picture that slides pass your scrolling thumb – that cause what you’ve kept inside to unravel. Like a sneak attack, memories start to flash by, a conflict of sadness, pain, and happiness you felt at those memories entwine and resurface – you smile wistfully and gaze into the distance.
And then you panic. Your mind swerves sharply into chaos. Because this was unplanned. You thought you were fine. You start to hurt. You don’t know what to do with the pain and wish yourself curled up on your bed at home.
Flashbacks. Sneaky little things they are.
I’ll be okay, I’ll be alright.