16/05/2025
๐๐ก๐๐ญ ๐ข๐๐ฌ
What if I wasnโt enough?
What if they're better?
What if I never heal from this?
These are the questions that visit me late at night,
The ones that dress like logic but feel like poison.
They donโt walk in with answersโ
Only more questions.
What if Iโd said yes that day?
What if I had stayed a little longerโ
Would things be different now?
Would we have laughed instead of walked away?
I donโt know.
And thatโs the thing, โthey really donโt come with answers,
They creep in quietlyโ
Regret, worry,
Random thoughts I never invited.
โMaybe if I hadโฆโ
โWhat if I didnโtโฆโ
Itโs loud in here.
But the truth?
These โwhat ifsโ are always late.
They arrive after the moment has passed,
Dragging guilt in like itโs a suitcase I asked for.
I didnโt. And I wonโt carry it.
I questioned the questions.
And then questioned myself for questioning.
It's madness disguised as reflectionโ
Self-torture dressed up like deep thought.
It spirals.
And soon, the what ifs blur into should haves.
And the should haves blur into shame.
And the shame becomes silence,
the kind that settles deep in your chest like fog that refuses to lift.
Itโs a loop.
A cruel one.
Because thereโs no bottom.
Just thoughts that take and take and take.
But Iโve learnedโslowly, painfullyโthat what ifs never close doors.
So now, when they knock,
I let them know:
I wonโt be hosting them tonight.
Iโve got better things to do than re-live a life that never happened.
And sometimes, when the weight feels too much,
I remember the Man from Galilee.
The one who never asked me to be perfect before giving me peace.
The One who holds time and memory
Without shame or confusion.
The One who doesnโt ask me to explain
Why I stayed, why I broke, why I ran.
He doesnโt say โrethink.โ
He says rejoice.
Even in the ache.
Even in the after.
Even here.
