Dragonfly

Do you know that feeling when you’re in the middle of something—some journey, some relationship, some situation—and it kind of sucks, but not enough to make you quit? Like, it’s mostly bad, but just good enough to keep you hanging on. A breadcrumb trail of fleeting highs. So you stay. You tell yourself, maybe it’ll get better. Maybe you’re just being dramatic. Maybe the magic will return.

It’s kind of like doomscrolling—everything looks like a disaster, but you keep going, convinced something meaningful will pop up any second now. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

And then finally, you reach the so-called destination and it’s… even worse than the journey. But instead of walking away, you gaslight yourself into thinking, No no, this is fine. This is great. I’m happy. I swear. (You’re not.)

Until one day—snap. You hit your limit. The fog clears. And you walk away, not with regret, but with relief. Because you realize: you don’t owe your life to a path that only half-loved you back. You’re allowed to leave. You’re allowed to choose peace over potential.

And the moment you do? That thing loses all its power over you. The “what ifs” evaporate. The grip loosens. You’re free. If something isn’t meant for you, the universe will keep tossing red flags at your face until you stop pretending they’re confetti.

Oh, and years ago, I joked that maybe I’m actually a mosquito. And you know what eats mosquitoes?

Dragonflies.

So yeah. I’ve been living in constant danger and didn’t even know it. But not anymore.