I knew it. I knew it then, when it was buried in my heart. An imperfect feeling in a perfect surrounding. Then it stayed there. Sometimes it would stare back at me. Teasing me. Mocking me. Talking to me in a condescending tone. Was I hurt ? Sure. It was torture. That constant attempt to talk myself out of that voice. Not letting it have it's hold on me. Not going down that rabbit hole only to be left stranded in a deeper underground. A part of me kept growing cold & lifeless. It forms a strange dipole where mind is in one end & heart is in other. The heart asks for freedom & the mind cherishing it's unrelenting clasp. This continues untill there is nothing that a heart could feel. What follows is a long bland void. It was better off when it was hurt. There was movement, there was pain, there was rebellion. It felt strangely alive to be burnt under the fire of doubt & agony. Now it's just cold. The water that used to flow in a river is now confined in a poo