I think some versions of me are still alive somewhere.

Not in a poetic way.

I mean literally… still making choices I didn’t make.

There’s a version of me that said what I swallowed.

One that left before it hurt.

One that stayed and ruined everything just to feel something real.

And sometimes, I feel them,

like echoes pressing against my chest,

like memories I never actually lived.

Maybe that’s why certain moments feel too heavy for their size.

Too familiar. Too exact.

Like I’ve been here before,

and chose differently.

But not this time.

A. Noor✍️