Early on in my year of forty-four, I did not hear you approaching or tapping at the door.
Though your knocking grew louder (and even louder still), I ignored your infernal rapping thanks to stubborn will.
But you, my midlife crisis, are not one to be ignored. You grew tired of your incessant banging and broke down that God-damned door.
You joined me at the table and stared me in the eye. You showed me all the coulda-beens and made me start to cry.
You mocked me for my choices that I always thought were blessed. And the more you poked and prodded, the more I second guessed.
I turned to walk away, but you grabbed me by the hand. You weren’t done with me yet, no, being defeated was not your plan.
I held my head in sadness as you reigned yourself superb, but I found the courage deep within and kicked you to the curb.