Cancer

The expectations you carry that belong to someone else sit in your chest like borrowed clothes that have worn smooth from years of use. You know which ones they are because your shoulders drop when you imagine setting them down. They feel so familiar now that you mistake them for your own preferences, your own standards, your own voice saying what matters. The week ahead asks which of these expectations you are ready to return to their original owners. The relief arrives as something your ribs remember before your head catches up.