Today,
I remembered something
I hadn’t thought of in fifteen years.
I can picture myself,
lying in bed,
staring out the window
hours past bedtime
a kid, frightened,
willing to make a deal with the devil.

Exchanging the liberty I grew up in
for a mirage of security,
for stories I told myself.
Trading attention, once abundant,
for crushing invisibility
like a child in a play
with no parents in the crowd.

Bartering for eternal solitude
when connection was all I ever craved.

I remember
giving away everything I was meant to be
for a life that made no difference.

And it’s almost cruel,
waking up now
knowing I chose this path myself.
It would be easier
to be the victim.

A thought hidden
in a buried drawer,
unearthed
after fifteen years of digging.

I think I’m alive again.