I am mourning futures my body quietly closed the door on. I did not realize how much identity lived in ordinary plans until those plans stopped fitting. There are dreams that did not die dramatically, just under fluorescent light at appointments. My body keeps rewriting terms I never agreed to. I grieve the energy I used to spend without budgeting. It is strange to be grateful and grieving at the same time for what remains. 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.
For the body I thought I would get to keep