Some people spend years trying to find what they really want.
Nobody really knows if they are content with being content.
Married by twenty-five and three kids by thirty-three.
A nice suburban house with double doors and everything you've ever dreamed of in the hard wood floors of your newly renovated kitchen.
Your house is littered with toys that you don't even remember buying.
Constant arguments over why you spent two hundred dollars on a purse but you swear to God it's designer and completely worth it.
Your children are sneaking out at night and you snoop through your daughters diary because you say you think she's on drugs but really you are just nosy.
You have boring, repetitive missionary *** every other Tuesday and you are sure that *** didn't used to feel this dull.
Your children leave and you are left with a near empty house again.
You spend your time with golf and knitting class to try and fill the gaping hole left in your heart…
*******! There is a senior yoga class at the YMCA.
Your every breath is laced with worry of your offsprings in the real world.
You think back to when you were in high school and how you dreamed about being a ballet dancer.
Where has your life gone?
You can barely stand without the help of a cane because your knees are too old and creaky.
You can't even remember your old street name and your children stick you in a home because they can't manage with crazy old mom around.
They visit you once a month and eventually
you forget you even have children.
Your last couple of breaths are panicked and regretful.
You have your memories knocked back into you with the fear of a reaper.
You realized you never actually lived and you want to go back.
You dwell on every mistake and missed opportunity
You regret not following your dreams.
You want to go back.
You want to go back.
You want to go back.
You want to go back.
You want to go ba--