Cherreads

My Precious Prisoner

Bandana_Bhattarai
There she was, lying on her bed, frozen, time had paused her, altogether, as it seems. The more I think about it, I was never a prisoner of my past. It was the past that I had caged up. I held it captive until it began rebelling. It wasn’t the past that was unable to let me go. It was me. The youngest memory I have has me, my mother, and my father, sunbathing as I ate an ice cream. The warm winter light, as it struck my face, the warm embrace of the sun, hugging the affection we shared. Such a perfect family. How I smiled so brightly at the sight of everything. How I forgot to smile like I did back then. The more I think about it, I was never a prisoner of my past. It was in the past that I was caged in a prison. I held it captive until it began rebelling. My past wasn’t unable to let me go, I was. How? You ask? Let me tell you a story. A story of a girl. My prisoner.
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