Quirk

Soft clay. Fresh, flexible and..

Soft clay. Fresh, flexible and ready to be moulded into
whatever that was deemed fit. Ready to take on the shape of
those that were approved.

The world demands a lot from a person. Eager to please,
eager for approval, eager to be what was *right*, moulding
was done according to one *correct* shape after another.

Now the clay has hardened. It is so misshapened that it no
longer bear an identity. Too late is the regret. Pieces
slowly crumble from it as attempts are made to knock it
into a familiar shape. Soon it will shatter completely.