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You know when you're over something, because it happened a long time ago and by now you absolutely should be over it, but it plays on your mind and you think about it late at night and you have all these unanswered questions and even though you are happy now, happier than you ever though you could be, you still wrestle with these moments of panic and sickness whenever you think about it, or someone mentions it unexpectedly.

The out of the blue, you get a chance to ask all the questions you ever needed to, you get a chance to talk and make peace and have some sort of closure.

But you don't do any of those things, you make polite and awkward conversation, you tell each other how happy you are, how accomplished you are, you reflect on things in a 'weren't we young and silly' sort of way, and you never say what you really want to because you think that because you have found yourself able to talk, you don't need to anymore.

Then it's months later and there it is again, the nagging, stabbing thoughts, only the chance has gone, and even though you could ask the questions you need to so you can sleep at night, you can't because you're afraid of what you might hear. You're afraid of what you might find out about yourself, about back then, about opening up old wounds which you never closed properly, wounds which split open and weep and sting.

And you're back where you started.