I'm sure there was a time.
When I just lived in each moment.
Experienced joy. Or sadness. Or anger.
And accepted it as such.
I'm sure there must have been a time.
Before my sense of self.
Was so utterly anihilated. Broken down. Betrayed.
That I didn't feel the need to analyse my every motivation.
Question my every feeling.
Wallow in guilt. For not feeling guilt.
When introspection. Become self-inquisition.
When self-love becomes suspicion.
I'm sure there must have been a time when I would look in the mirror.
And recognise the man staring back at me.
But even now. I doubt my memories.
So I don't know.
If there was ever such a time.