I saw my life branching out before me like a green fig tree. I stood beneath it, hands empty, telling myself there would be time, that choosing later was safer than choosing wrong. One by one, the figs darkened, softened, and fell. I died a little each time one hit the ground, not because I lost it, but because I never dared to reach. I wondered, quietly, how pleasant life might have tasted if I had eaten even one on time. Instead, I kept losing them, one after another, until autumn came and all the figs rotted beneath my feet. I sat under the tree, hollow, replaying every moment I could have done better. Slowly, I disappeared under the weight of what I never chose. The rotten figs smelled of nothing but grief and sadness. ~ farah
