You Were Supposed To Be My Future

You were supposed to be here by now. You were supposed to be a white picket fence and a patio with a fire pit. You’d be an open package of graham crackers and burnt marshmallows beneath the sun setting, pink on the horizon and a soft blanket over my shoulders.

You’d see me walk inside my house, past tiny speakers with sweet melodies. I’d open all the windows a little wider. I’d grab two beers from the fridge, and my eyes would catch the frames above the mantle: My degrees, my certifications… photos from the day he proposed to me and the day we were married between the trees and sunlight. I came back to our folding chairs and kissed his forehead and our smiles would never cease to exist.

You were supposed to take care of my parents, to end their suffering. You weren’t supposed to take my brother and sister so far away from me. You were supposed to give me a child by now, to hold in my arms and give my love. You were supposed to be a dog by my side with it’s tail wagging and hair sticking to my clothes.

You were supposed to show me the world. You were supposed to show me what I was meant for.

But instead I’m here. I’ve been sitting in a coffee shop for the last ten years with headphones over my ears and blank page opened in my notebook. You weren’t supposed to be a treatment facility and sickness. You weren’t supposed to be mornings stuck in bed. You were supposed to bring me to God, to know him and to show myself.

You weren’t supposed to be college that I couldn’t finish and $40,000 of loan debt. You weren’t supposed to let all my friends move away, and we shouldn’t have forgotten each other. You were supposed to let me change the world, to fight the good fight, to do more.

You were supposed to be here by now, to show me what was missing.

You were supposed to show me how to be happy.