Author: Clara
I keep walking through the rooms of a life that never quite arrived.
The versions of me that said yes to the harder road, the quieter mornings, the work that actually meant something are still standing somewhere just out of reach.
This one is the leftover.
The safe choice that turned into a cage with good lighting and no exit.
I could have been louder.
I could have left earlier.
I could have stayed when it hurt
instead of choosing the soft way out.
Now the days stack up like unopened letters addressed to someone I stopped becoming.
Frustration sits low in the chest, not sharp enough to cut, just heavy enough to remind me how many better lives I left on the table.
I get you.
Last night I almost poked my eye out after running into a stick. It scratched the underneath of my eye, but imagine if it poked my eye instead. I usually think about where I’d currently be if not for the choices I made. I could’ve been dead, brain dead, blind, poisoned… and one time I planned on running away with almost no plan with someone I barely knew. Thankfully I was too much of a pussy, and I chickened out. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened… and as someone who explores caves and abandoned buildings, you never know.