I am mourning futures my body quietly closed the door on. I miss the person who assumed the future was a hallway and not a locked door. I grieve the energy I used to spend without budgeting. There are dreams that did not die dramatically, just under fluorescent light at appointments. My body keeps rewriting terms I never agreed to. It is strange to be grateful and grieving at the same time for what remains. I did not realize how much identity lived in ordinary plans until those plans stopped fitting. There are losses with no obituary and still too much aftermath.
For the future that quietly disappeared