Amelia James Poetry

I still hear the whispers,
soft as shadows at dusk,
“What if you’d said something sooner?
What if you’d held on a little longer?”

The ghosts of choices slip
through cracks in the walls
of my mind,
asking,
“What if you’d been enough?
What if it had been you?”

What if we’d gotten it right?
What if I hadn’t trusted the lies
that led me here?
What if we had made it out
of that tangled mess
and into something else?

They circle.
They linger.
Like birds trapped in a room,
flapping their wings
against the walls of my thoughts,
refusing to leave.

But what if they never will?
What if I never stop wondering,
never stop asking?

-Amelia James