Prose Fragment

I have to question whether I am the person I hoped I’d be by this age or if I’m erected a structure of excuses that prevents necessary discursive self-criticism from arising naturally in my thoughts there were stars overhead I lay on the phone with you under the Sycamore trees at my parents’ house this was almost ten years ago I was 26 I think what you kept telling me over and over was ‘no’ and that at some point I hung up

“roadway surrounded by trees” by Alua Magzumova on Unsplash