I sit here with my mug of hot chocolate, staring at a crumpled piece of paper I found tucked away in an old notebook. It’s a letter I wrote years ago, meant for someone who once meant the world to me. I never sent it. Maybe I should have, maybe it would have changed everything, maybe nothing.
Sometimes, I look back at my life and wonder what led me to this moment in time, to this very instance. Did my choices in life truly impact the trajectory? Or was it written in the stars eons ago that I would be who I am today, and that my life would unravel as it has? Maybe this letter was never meant to be sent.
But whether or not I choose to send the letter now, is that my own free will? Or am I a pawn in someone else’s game—one I don’t understand, and probably never will? This letter, this moment, this choice—how much of it is truly mine?
Mini Brain Dumps 
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