"Coming to"

The truth is a delicate thing, pointed yet easily dulled, fixed yet giving. If it hurts to remember the past, we lie, coloring it to our advantage. The finer details we forget, if only to console ourselves. To walk this hidden way darkens the shade, separating us from true kinship. Like the orphans of lesser gods, we walk between two worlds, ashamed of our humanity while withholding the power that might save it.
There are many things that bring a person to feel powerless over their life. Too many traumas strip a person's dignity, causing them to internalize a reality where all love has conditions. If you can never deserve the benefit of kindness, every outstretched hand becomes a threat, regardless of its intention. If the threat is real, people's reactions vary. Some fight while others sing, alike in that each hope to find peace.
In between the heart of revenge and creativity there is a common artery, the tumbling insistence of regret. Often, those that flee carry the misguided guilt of abandoning the struggle while others stay and suffer. This is the way the past tampers with a person's future; worrying you sick that if old pain catches you in the present, it might incapacitate you. Or perhaps the contrast between past and present might expose the most human parts of a person's nature, proving the existence of all we've chosen to ignore.