The Life I Promised Myself
Writing through longing, time, and the search for wholeness.
My Post-Poem Thought
We are scattered, fragmented like notes in a notebook, entries in a diary or scribble on random bits of paper. To love your life is to see it as a whole - composed. Fragments reunited in an order that makes sense. Only then can you understand who you are.
There’s been a good amount of snow in the village recently. It never lasts long - thankfully - but it really looks pretty.
Where Has It Gone?
Where has it gone?
The life I promised myself,
the life that didn’t include
me getting old
so quick.
The one where everything happened
neatly,
no burnt toast, no arguments,
no existential death.
The life
where I leave a mark
enough that time might not forget
I’m here, even as my dust
scatters to the wind.
Where has it gone?
The story, the servitude,
the long days
trying to please,
the life I promised myself,
the life that didn’t include
me getting old
so quick.