maybe in another life, things would be softer. maybe in another life, i’d wake up to the sound of laughter instead of silence. the kind that fills the kitchen when love still lives there. maybe in that life, i’d have a family who protects, not wounds. a home that doesn’t crumble under the weight of unspoken things.
in that version of me, my step mother would choose love over greed, presence over pride, warmth over the cold comfort of money. she’d look at me not as an obligation, but as her own.
not as a reminder of the man she resents, nor as a means to what she wants. and maybe, just maybe, i’d let her hold me without fear that her affection comes with a price.
my dad would still be alive there, alive in the way that matters. laughing, humming, teasing me for staying up too late again. he’d be happy, not because he’s escaped death, but because he’s found peace. because he sees me becoming everything he ever hoped i’d be.
maybe in another life, i wouldn’t have to keep convincing myself that pain builds character.
maybe i wouldn’t have to be both the wound and the healer. maybe i’d simply exist. loved, protected, chosen. but this is the life i have now. and maybe this one, too, is trying to love me back in ways i just haven’t learned to see yet.
titsay
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
izzy806
turnnoffyourmind
