A conversation with my younger self was long overdue. Yes, I remember the teacher who said I can write, but never be a good speaker. She is dead now, and I pay homage every year on the social media post put up by her daughters.
I remember that my favourite teacher once stained my picture-perfect notebooks with a red cross, because he was in a foul mood. I smile when he compliments me on social media now.
I wonder if those people who stung my soul with their venomous words remember what they said. Maybe it was an outpouring of their own angst, and some of them are no more.
sharp, thorny glances
pierce shreds of scarce confidence
birds flee branch to fly
Haibun Monday
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