21 years in and your youth has seeped through your fingers like sand. You feel as if you are sinking into the earth’s core, weighed down by things that can't be band-aided, stitched up nor plastered.
But fear not, there's a surgery that can fix that!
Except... the re-construction surgery has a waitlist, a long one, a 25 year long one. Not even private health insurance can speed up your spot in the queue.
Patience is a virtue - a virtue you struggle to enact.
Just as the desire to reach the end grows consumingly larger, beams of light speckle through the dark mist in familiar shapes.
The smell of loose Rothmans tobacco, echoing cackles of Polynesian banter that vibrates the room, the feeling of nourished, soft skin that has travelled to hell and back to feel the contentment it does today; the warm cuddle fuels your body with electricity. This is the familiarity you were missing. The perfect replacement for surgery - A familiar touch.
When our beaming rays have been so heavily dimmed, sometimes it's just a jewelled op shop find, a pint of lager with a dash of yappa at the local pub, or the reliant server who graces 'have a nice day' after gifting you a mug of energy, or maybe it's an auburn butterfly that pats you on the back and hums "every little thing is going to be alright".
What is it that re-ignites the light in you?