It's not the first time. There was once before. I don't remember the details of the first, because that's just the way things are designed. But there is one distinct detail I do remember. That feeling of tooth fragments filling up my mouth. I'd spit them out, but then there would be more. I tried holding on to them, not wanting to lose my teeth, but I knew the inevitable was already there. It was just me trying to hold on.
The first time, I don't think it was so severe. It was one tooth, chipping away and I would "taste" the fragments and try not to spit it out. I could taste the rotten bloody teeth tingling on my tongue, and it was disgusting. I finally spat it out to discover I had lost a tooth.
But yesterday, it was more than that. Again and again, no matter how many times I spat onto the pavement, wherever I walked, more tooth fragments would appear to fill up my mouth. I guess I must've been some sort of shark, otherwise no way should I have any teeth at all. I proceeded to accept that I had lost those teeth that I spat out, and the pain eventually went away. I ran my tongue over the bare gums and went to a dentist. He had me fitted with brand new gnashers. They fit the purpose, for when I smiled no one knew they were fake. But I did. And I smiled anyways, knowing all the while I was no longer complete. But I didn't feel resentful that at such a young age I no longer had my biters. Somehow, I just felt acceptance. It hurt, but I accepted it.
Maybe I'm just nervous about the upcoming dentist appointment I have, or maybe they are signs of greater things to come. No matter what, I will find a way to reach that state of acceptance.
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