Someone says something thoughtlessly offensive and
… you stop, like you just took an arrow to the knee. Dry ice races through your veins, time slows and you think …
Was that really intended to hurt, was it even offensive, or am I just being bloody oversensitive again? Should I say something? Better not.
Something aches; your ribs, your gut – things feel hollow, precarious. You wish you didn’t feel it so hard, you wish you could shrug better.
You fear hearing that you took it too personally, that it was just a joke.
You do your best to bury it and sometimes you can forget. And sometimes it returns like a mantra and sometimes it spiders ink under your skin till the whole world can see the words you made your own.