Broken

I think faster; but I walk slower these days.

It’s not just the obvious curbs or uneven paving that unbalances me now, it’s more the unapparent, the hidden snares that stop me in my tracks.

Walking into the local bookstore I am instantly wrong-footed. From the dim interior a disjointed female voice cheerily calls out. I cannot see the body that the voice belongs to; so I don’t know if she is speaking to me. My eyes will never adjust to the light; they simply can’t see enough.

I waver, uncertain, feeling like I am blinking in a spotlight on a stage I do not want to be standing on. I am at a disadvantage; and that is not a place I often allow myself to be.

You learn to be resourceful, humour is my cohort, often smiling and elbowing me out of trouble. The monsters help me too, in their own brutal and compassionate way.

Mummy’s eyes are broken.” The little one announces cheerily in our busy local cafe. I smile ruefully in the ensuing lull, looking heavenwards to soften the blow.

He’s right though; a bit of me is broken.

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