Moving On

I haven’t been myself lately. The last three weeks saw the resurgence of the gloomy, overly-critical and insecure Daniel that I thought was forever consigned to a distant memory. Yet it seems that the past doesn’t die easily; rather, it lurks within the deepest recesses of one’s mind, and resurfaces when one’s emotional defences are weakened.

But is there a point in brooding? What does it achieve? Wouldn’t moving on be better?

My dance shoes are covered with a thin layer of dust, the result of three weeks of disuse. Perhaps it’s time to wear them again?