what might've been

there’s comfort in stirring your coffee, quietly wondering what life might’ve been if you had been wiser, or simply braver. the steam curls like questions you no longer ask out loud. or you lock yourself in your room, chasing warmth from a dim light, while the cold knocks softly against the window, like the world celebrating without you. not out of cruelty, just forgetting that you were ever meant to join. the silence isn’t heavy, just familiar. like an old coat you wear too long, because it remembers you better than most people do. and maybe tomorrow, you’ll open the door. maybe the coffee will taste different. maybe your hands will stop shaking when they reach for the cup... but for now, there’s this moment. this warmth. this pause. and the hope, quiet, but still there, that what might’ve been doesn’t mean it’s too late.