The Second Act

If I could go back twenty years and grab my own face, my round cheeks, and dig my nails behind each ear – I would growl there is more time than you think. Marry the boy. Run away together. Wait on babies.

Her green eyes would be soft and scared, tears welling up from knowing this known ghost is me and she is right.

Who would I become, would I have become her earlier, does she exist in another thin thread of the multiverse, is she happy, does happiness exist where or when she is…is she me, really? Am I me, really?

Who is anyone anyway.