Between Bruises & Blooms

I walk paths
littered with regrets,

where every stone
wears the face
of a decision
I wish I had made differently.

Some are small—

words I swallowed,

calls I never returned,

doors I closed
out of fear
instead of peace.

Others rise
like abandoned houses,

echoing with names
I still whisper
when no one is listening.

But the forest
has been teaching me
something strange.

Even fallen leaves
become the soil
that feeds
next spring’s flowers.

Perhaps regret
isn’t meant
to be a prison.

Perhaps
it is simply evidence

that I have lived,

that I have loved,

that I have stumbled
often enough
to recognize
the sound of grace
when it finally
finds me.

So I will keep walking.

Not because
the path is free
of sorrow,

but because
somewhere beyond
the ruins
of who I was,

the person
I am becoming

is waiting.