Not just making the same mistake over and over, knowingly making the same mistake over and over. The regret of the mistake was less than the mistake itself. Ultimately not convinced it was a mistake at all.

I described myself in relation to what was most important. The oldest. The one closest to the mantle. The weight of responsibility fit like a glove.

A story forgotten. A story remembered. A story made one’s own.

It’s a dull pain. A drumming on your head. An ache that won’t go away. Of course, fleeing is top of mind. That takes the priority, not trusting in a greater purpose.

Enjoyment where pain was expected. Disappointment where expectation was placed. Surprise where spontaneity was allowed. Delight at a turn unexpected.