Someday…

Someday. Someday, Someday…

Someday, maybe, I’ll look back at these days and think to myself that I did the right thing.

Maybe, someday, I’ll stop imagining what might have been if I hadn’t divorced him, hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t touched him.

You’d think that someday, I’d stop thinking that it’s so funny that one day I opened a door to a boy and that door never shut. it just keeps revolving. Bringing the wrong ones through it.

Maybe I’ll even tell my daughter these stories. Cautionary tales, funny anecdotes. Maybe she’ll think I was a bad girl. Scandalous. Reckless. I’ll never let on that I was just lonely and trying to do right. Do right by my own mother while trying to be everything but her. Yet I see the same lines in our faces. The same straight spine when someone tries to tell me what to do. Inevitable.

Somedays are for dreamers who never reach their dreams. Who never get off their butts and finish what they started. I’ve put myself in this category. Why?

Because someday I hope this pain on the inside of me goes away. Someday I hope I find who I am instead of living as this shell of someone I don’t even recognize. Someday I hope I regain the confidence of a 10th grader who let her curly hair blow through the wind and never once let a boy determine what she was going to do.

I let too many boys determine what I am going to do. They look in my tear stained eyes and see something they can fix. I let them try. I spend so much time trying to fix the eyes looking back at mine. When did I become someone that someone else needed to fix?

Where is my straight spine? I watch myself stand for causes that I really don’t care about. My pen lays dormant. My passions set up on a shelf while I fight another day in someone else’s war.

This person isn’t me.

Someday we all turn into our mothers.

Someday, I’ll apologize.

Today. I’ll examine the lines.

Maybe someday I’ll love them.

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