The Otherness of Writing

A positive addiction

Photo by Joel Burgess on Unsplash

Reading something I wrote long ago reminds me of being six years old and losing a tooth. Was I the only child who held that tiny part of me in my palm and wondered at its coldness, its otherness? Was I the only one who tried to fit it back in its place, so recently vacated? How alien and strange it felt! That little tooth which my tongue had passed over a million times was now a thing…

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