I think the cruelest part
is that I really thought
I would be someone by now.
Not extraordinary.
Just loved.
Certain.
Alive in my own life.
Instead I keep introducing myself
through unfinished sentences.
Almost this.
Wanted to be that.
Maybe someday.
Twenty-four feels like standing in the ruins
of a person I promised myself I’d become.
And nobody knows it,
but every birthday now
feels less like a celebration
and more like evidence.
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 4:47 PM UTC
I think the cruelest part
is that I really thought
I would be someone by now.
Not extraordinary.
Just loved.
Certain.
Alive in my own life.
Instead I keep introducing myself
through unfinished sentences.
Almost this.
Wanted to be that.
Maybe someday.
Twenty-four feels like standing in the ruins
of a person I promised myself I’d become.
And nobody knows it,
but every birthday now
feels less like a celebration
and more like evidence.