I learned early how fast a door can close. How long a night gets when nobody knows. Had a few years I barely recognize. Too much noise. Too many borrowed highs. Ran hard with nowhere worth going. Burned good hours just to keep from knowing. Had love once. Thought that made me safe. Turns out life doesn't sign its name that way. So I got good at carrying strange weight. Good at showing up a little too late. Good at making one bad turn make sense. Till I looked around and saw what it had cost. The past is finished. That's the hard part. It doesn't move just because I do. What comes next is still in my hands. Not the wreck. Not where it began. I can't pull yesterday back through the glass. But I can choose what survives the crash. What comes next. That's enough. What comes next. I left town with more behind than packed. Found out distance doesn't change the facts. Work got heavy. I got stronger. Not all at once. Just longer. Kept a few habits I should probably lose. Dropped a few others before they choose for me. Started paying attention to the man in the mirror not what he wanted, what he kept doing. That's different. Turns out trying isn't clean. You can mean well and still miss things. You can build something with shaking hands. You can fall short and still take another swing. I don't need a better history. Just a better answer when it reaches for me again. What comes next is still in my hands. Not the wreck. Not where it began. I can't pull yesterday back through the glass. But I can choose what survives the crash. What comes next. That's enough. What comes next. No clean slate. Fine. I'll write over what I can.
