Twenties

episodes

Old me would have never taken that taxi to the beach.

She would have walked.

Food wouldn’t fill the hollow in her chest.

She carried her hunger like discipline.

A backless bench would have been uncomfortable.

Old me loved sunny mornings.

Loved breakfast like ritual.

Loved solitude like chosen silence —

not a hiding place.

She was strict.

Grounded.

She did not enjoy life,

but felt fulfilled.

Now I taste desire —

and it feels unfamiliar in my mouth.

The price of feeling good

was losing the whip I held over my own back.

Now I am numb,

unsure how to live without pressure.

Suspended

between who I was

and who I might become.

Between desire

and the terrifying freedom of actually living it.

⸻

Sometimes when old skin falls away, the air stings, and you mistake exposure for being lost.