There’s a point where the story I’m holding

starts to separate from what is here.

What is really happening.

It still makes sense in my head.

Despite reality not cooperating.

What I thought should work, doesn’t.

What I hoped was true, isn’t.

What I want to be real

keeps getting outvoted by what is.

That’s when the tension starts.

I’m not confused.

I’m committed to the version

I wish was true.

Sometimes I’ve outgrown the story.

Sometimes reality has outgrown me.

I’m stuck in the middle

trying to reconcile the two

with explanations that don’t land anymore.

I tell myself I just need more time.

More evidence.

More clarity.

When I’m trying to make it make sense.

I don’t want to let it go.

Letting it go

means admitting the story doesn’t serve anymore.

If the story doesn’t serve

then what’s left of me that built it?

This is where the need to make sense

becomes the thing that cuts me off

from seeing clearly.

From clarity.

Clarity doesn’t always match

what I still want to be true.

If I’m not careful,

I’ll keep editing reality

to fit a narrative I’ve already outgrown.