waiting to break out in a ball of fire and destroy itself.
My father used to say that one can never be at peace with himself without accepting his past, accepting who he is.
"When a lamb is slaughtered, food is served, but blood is also shed. One cannot accept just one and deny the other." One of the few things he used to tell me often. I never quite understood what it meant, and after his death, I stopped trying to make any sense of it. Poking at wounds has only done anyone so much good.
