The Things I Carry

I carry things

nobody can see.

Old conversations.

Unfinished apologies.

The names of people

I still think about

when the world gets quiet.

I carry the weight

of who I used to be,

and the fear

that maybe I haven’t changed

as much as I think.

Some days

I feel like I’m doing better.

I wake up.

Make coffee.

Answer messages.

Laugh at something stupid.

And for a little while,

life feels almost normal.

Then something small

catches me off guard.

A song.

A smell.

A memory

I didn’t ask for.

And suddenly

I’m standing in a version

of my life

I thought I’d already left.

That’s the part

nobody really explains.

You can move forward

and still miss

what’s behind you.

You can know

something was bad for you

and still grieve

the good parts.

You can forgive yourself

and still wish

you’d done things differently.

Maybe healing

isn’t about becoming

someone who never hurts.

Maybe it’s learning

how to carry the hurt

without letting it

make every decision.

I’m not there yet.

I still get angry.

Still overthink.

Still have days

when I look at myself

and wonder

what the fuck

I’m doing with my life.

But I’m trying.

Not in some beautiful,

inspirational way.

Just the ordinary kind.

Getting up.

Doing the next thing.

Choosing not to make

a bad day

into a bad life.

And maybe

that’s enough for now.

Maybe I don’t have to

put everything down

all at once.

Maybe I can carry

what I haven’t healed from

and still make room

for something good.