Image Credit: Unsplash- Dmitry Tomashek
There is a restlessness in my bones,
a constant hum that is never silent,
I moved from the city to the sweet, calming nature of the sea,
searching for something
I can’t quite name.
Some days I feel infinite—
I am filled with possibility,
like I could start over
and over
and still have time to get it right.
Other days I shrink,
under the weight of decisions
I thought I had time to avoid.
There are bills now,
and questions I can’t answer at parties.
Friends have scattered,
some settled, some drifted
some disappeared into relationships,
with babies,
houses,
masters degrees,
job titles I never considered,
into versions of themselves
I no longer recognize.
I scroll through lives on my phone,
and then sometimes I feel like I’m not living,
it’s only a matter of time that I start measuring mine,
against curated moments, photographs, and fleeting thoughts in my brain
Comparison tastes like failure,
even when I know better.
But I can’t quite shake the feeling of what if?
What if I stayed behind?
What if I took a different route?
What if I had a brain that didn’t overthink – what would I have achieved?
In amongst those late-night walks after long talks,
in my first apartment that never felt truly mine,
just figuring it out,
one overdue bill at a time.
I am not getting who I truly want to be.
This is the in-between—
messy, loud, tender feeling, of being me.
This was written by our contributing writer, Megan Evans.
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