Member-only story
My Path of Thorns Led Me Here
What choices would you go back and turn over?
The garden sits, as it always does, like a scene captured in a snow globe. I let the air fill my lungs as I breathe in the heady scents of flowers of all make and shape. It’s here that I come whenever my mind is too restless for me to sit still.
But the irony doesn’t escape me: these flowers will wither and die, just like humans do, their permanence interrupted by the ways and whims of wanton mortality.
It’s probably too deep of a thought for the morning hours, but I claim it as my own — as I do all the existential musings that make me question all sense and logic.
I romanticize all these things that, to other people, are just the window dressings of life.
Maybe that’s why you left. Maybe that’s why I’m standing here alone on a lovely morning when the sun is yawning awake to dapple its light across the landscape. Maybe that’s why, when the moon dances in the sky at the midnight hour, I find myself in a bed alone — lost in the memories of all the times I let people go before they could ever really hurt me.
My tower of thorns grew before I ever even realized I was keeping away anyone who could ever touch my heart close enough for it to crack and break.
