Remembering

I feel a certain nostalgia for my tortured youth. For my innocence which I hated at the time but like all things looked at with hindsight is a little achey in its absence. I miss people and closeness and being in the centre of things. Here I am as so many times before slightly on the fringe. Most times I am happy with that lot, but from time to time, it bites, it stings, it burns. Things go back to being hidden as we remember being burned.