There are versions of me no one knew long enough to miss except me. It is strange to be grateful and grieving at the same time for what remains. My body keeps rewriting terms I never agreed to. I grieve the energy I used to spend without budgeting. I did not realize how much identity lived in ordinary plans until those plans stopped fitting. I miss the person who assumed the future was a hallway and not a locked door. There are dreams that did not die dramatically, just under fluorescent light at appointments. My body keeps rewriting terms I never agreed to.
The Wall
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