I am mourning futures my body quietly closed the door on. 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 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. 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. My body keeps rewriting terms I never agreed to.
For the future that quietly disappeared