At 80, on your deathbed, you wouldn’t want to be thinking about the words you left unsaid,
About the ties you could have reached out to, and mended,
About how you could have buried the hatchet and let things go,
Or how you should have pushed yourself to listen to your heart, before you decided on your ‘NO’,
At 80, on your deathbed, you wouldn’t want to wonder why you didn’t muster the courage to go after what you wanted,
Or why you’d let opinions of people affect the path you chose to tread,
You wouldn’t want to realise when it is a little too late, that all it would’ve taken is a text, a call, a knock, a wink,
A wave, a nudge, oh just an inkling of a hint –
To tell someone they mattered, you wouldn’t want to be breaking your head about the seemingly endless possibilities –
Of a different world of “what ifs” and “if onlys”,
You wouldn’t want to be dwelling on questions you wouldn’t have answers to,
At 80, on your deathbed, you wouldn’t want to be writhing with regret stinging every vein of your being, would you?
Break open the locks of the hollows you’ve trapped your emotions in, shatter the voids that push you to rebuff,
Mend the fences now, you have waited long enough.