Maybe, of myself. I didn’t listen to that small voice in the back of my head, warning me.
But, then again;
Should I let myself feel qualms?
Already having found myself in the same situation in the past, my reaction is colder this time. It should be. My vivid crimson ball has been thrown to the ground, in the mud, on the rocks again and again.
Maybe my mistake was who’s hands I trusted it to …
Without a second thought, they threw and kicked my ball far away.
So far away that I have to go fetch it alone, once more; Pick it up with my own two hands and polish it carefully. It will shine again, it always did after I took it in my hands after all. The tears once used to clean the mud have dried up; My intense breathing used to remove the dirt is now serene, And my unsteady heartbeats used to make the color more vivid are now beating in a calm steady rhythm. Instead, a smile curves at the tips of my lips and my eyes shimmer, before the voice whispers again at the back of my head:
“You expected it, right ?”
The smile gets wider, till it turns into a loud laughter.
“You will not do it again in the future, right ?”
I look down at my ball, that has turned into the most vivid and shiniest crimson it had ever been, and I see my smile mirrored on it as it comes to rest on my lips permanently. Excitement fills my little ball, as I trust in the future and I take my first step into the unknown.
I will always listen to the little voice;
However, I cannot help but feel curious, as to how much more shinier my ball can turn into.