letters after dark | poetry book 3

mourning the death of my future and entire being

maybe.

maybe in another life, i never lived in a house bound by anger, harshness, and cold bits of affection. maybe in another universe, i get to live the dream i want to become. maybe in my dreams, i get to study in the university i wanted, majoring in what i truly daydreamed about. maybe in a distant lifeline, you never got to hurt me. you never drained the remaining life in my eyes. you never put out the flickering flame of my dying soul. in another lifetime, maybe i never get to mourn the never-ending anguish of the pain you caused me that will take too long to heal. maybe in another life, i didn't make too many choices i regretted in the end. maybe in another universe, i didn't have to cry every night, wondering why you did that to me; why you caused me to question my worth. maybe in another life, i am happier. that i am not used to slits and cuts and blood on my hands. maybe in another universe, i'm not ready to end it all, nor do i plan, or even be in the first place. maybe in a different time, place, and circumstances, i am happier after graduating and landing the job i wanted. maybe in another version of me, i never have to beg people to stay with me and try to risk loving me. maybe, just maybe, in an alternate universe, i am not riddled with anxiety and constant apology of not being enough for anyone—not even for you.

maybe in another lifetime, i am genuinely happy.