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The Story Is Not Over
There are pages
I would rewrite
if life allowed such things.
Words I would take back.
Doors I might have opened.
People I would have held
a little longer.
But yesterday
does not answer
when we call its name.
So I have stopped asking
the past to become different.
It has already given me
everything it came to teach.
The scars.
The wisdom.
The becoming.
And here I am,
still breathing,
still hoping,
still holding the pen.
Perhaps that is the miracle.
We cannot change
how the story began,
but every morning
life gives us
another blank page.
And while there are pages
still waiting for my words,
I will not let yesterday
write tomorrow.
The past may belong
to who I was,
but the ending
still belongs
to who I choose to become.
