Half done; Half; Ha…
You there. Sit up. Slow your breathing. Venture into your mind. Go back a year — a decade.
Bring forth your youth, your carelessness. And while you bask in those memories, cast your eye toward the desolate town at the far end.
Go closer. Grip the curtain that envelopes it. Yank it open.
Dust off the board that reads: Abandon Hope, Ye Who Enter.
Enter anyway. Look at all the half-done things — the art projects, the journal, the course you said you’d finish, the letter you swore to write.
Where would you be if you had finished what you started? Would you be better? Would the world?
I am no messiah. The half-done tasks burn at the steps of my mind. Regret feeds the flames. Visions blaze past — versions of me I never met, lives I nearly lived.
I reach out for one. But it slips through my hands — unfinished, like me.