Ink and Regret

Coffee rings stain the edges

like faded scars on yellowed paper.

Red circles mock my younger self

in careless loops and scribbles.

I held this crumpled proof

of failures I thought I’d forgotten,

tracing the uneven lines,

noticing how small I used to be.

The ink seeps into the fibers,

mixing with dust and breath

from a life that tangled up

somewhere I’m not sure I want back.

But beneath those careless marks

there’s a quiet relief,

a whisper of who I was,

and the weight of who I could never be.