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Vemödalen.
The fear that everything has already been done.
When I first came across this word I nodded it off, not giving it a second thought. Today it tails every thought in my mind, pulling back each one that wishes to break through and live a life of its own. It crushes them half-baked before I can put a sense to them, before I can give them space to grow into themselves. It mocks every feeble effort of theirs to be unique, to simply be their own self. It sniggers enough to deafen the little voice in them, wishing meekly to be heard.
