In another time, my friends at 18 would’ve remained close for life; close to my heart, close at hand. But we were born to the generation that fled from safety; we sought something bigger than our quaint origins and called it destiny.
In another time we might’ve wanted for less. But we traded community for personal advancement and called it a career.
In another time, the weight of heartbreak and sorrow would’ve been born by others, the fissures mended and carefully tended. But we opted for independence, grew thick shells and called it adulthood.
In another time we mightn’t’ve felt lost, just appreciative of stability. But we set out without a map and acted surprised when our directions sent us awry.
In another time we might’ve felt happy without the need to reassure ourselves that we were. But we decided that happiness was a prize to obtain rather than a way of living.
In another time we mightn’t’ve wished it were another time. No buts about it.