Possibility

There is something quietly joyful about possibility.

A conversation. A piece of writing. A relationship. A decision. Before anything has taken shape, there is room for many different futures. We find ourselves imagining what might unfold, returning to it with a sense of curiosity, hope, and anticipation.

Yet I find myself wondering when, without quite noticing, one possible future begins to feel increasingly urgent.

The possibility that once contained joy begins to feel heavier. Frustration appears. Annoyance follows. It is as though possibility is no longer possibility at all, but something we need.

When did hope begin to feel like pressure?

When did possibility become expectation?

What once felt expansive somehow becomes narrow.

Nothing seems to have changed.

Yet something has.