a conversation with my old self 

today,

i met my old self

in a quiet corner of a coffee shop—

a table for two,

but it felt like a mirror pulled up a chair.

she still orders the same caramel macchiato,

careful not to stray from familiarity.

not because it’s her favorite,

but because it’s safe.

because risking five dollars on a new flavor

feels too much like gambling with certainty.

but it was never just about the coffee.

she’s always clung to comfort

like a life raft in still waters—

afraid to swim,

even when the shore was in sight.

she runs from discomfort

as if pain were a predator,

as if fear were prophecy.

always choosing detours over direction,

numbing over healing,

escape over evolution.

there’s a barrier she never crossed—

a thin line,

invisible to everyone but her,

woven from doubt, fear,

and the sound of her own hesitation.

a line she drew to feel safe,

but stayed behind long enough

to start calling it home.

she asked me how i’ve been.

i told her,

i’m still me…

but i’m out of that line now.

that’s our difference.

not that i’ve become someone new,

but that i’ve stopped mistaking stillness for peace.

that i’ve learned comfort can quietly become a cage,

and fear—

a leash disguised as logic.

she nodded,

but her fingers still curled tightly around the cup,

like she was holding on to more than just coffee.

and as i walked away,

i realized—

so many of us are still sitting there,

playing small in familiar places,

calling our cages “choices,”

pouring our potential into routine,

sipping dreams diluted by fear.

so many of us still live inside a line

we were never meant to stay behind.