At 19 I almost married someone who sucked the life right out of me. We were going to have a house with an island in the kitchen where I would host my college graduation party and our babies would play out back. We would hear
the wind blow in through the kitchen window, bringing with it their sing-song
voices, telling stories we will never hear. Then I thought I might just move to Chile. After googling their insulin prices and booking a two-week trip there at the beginning of a crazy summer.
Just two weeks ago I almost got my dream job. Considered moving to New York City or California. Built a tiny house. Became a designer, dietitian
or moved out west to maintain hiking trails.
But I never did
(Or haven’t yet).
So far, my almosts never laugh at me.
Instead they just look back with a sly, silly smile
that almost says Thank Goodness,
but instead chooses not to speak.