Trust Me, Anyway
Learning to believe in a future you can’t see.
I am not a visionary,
I am a list maker
who likes receipts and backup plans.
I trust things I can measure:
bus times, bank apps,
The way bread rises when I don’t stare at it.
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But lately, my future feels like fog
with a cute attitude problem.
I walk into it
holding my own hand.
Some days I wobble
like a baby deer in thrift-store boots.
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I tell myself small promises:
drink water,
answer one email,
open the window,
Don’t reread the text that bruised you.
༺
The sky doesn’t give me signs,
just weather.
Still, I step outside
and let the cold air teach me
That discomfort isn’t always danger.
༺
I don’t know what’s waiting.
Maybe nothing grand.
Maybe a soft life
I haven’t learned to picture yet.
About the Creator
Milan Milic
Hi, I’m Milan. I write about love, fear, money, and everything in between — wherever inspiration goes. My brain doesn’t stick to one genre.
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Comments (1)
“Some days I wobble like a baby deer in thrift-store boots.” This is fanfuckingtastic.