Just at the edge of me, there’s the girl who might have been. Someone not formed, a whisper of roads not taken, choices abandoned, decisions not made.
I wonder about her, sometimes. When it’s dark. And I find the myself more awake than I should be. I think about who she might have been. If those roads, those choices would have made her less or more of what I am. If the pleasures I’ve found would have been hers to take too. If the small regrets I carry would have been her victories, her rewards.
Or if she, like me, would lie awake. Thinking of what might have been.