If You Only Had Until December

A soft threat, a quiet dare, and a pulse you can’t ignore

If the credits rolled on December thirty first.
If the light went out mid-breath.
If that was it.

Would you live these next months the way you lived the last ones?

Or would something in you finally snap awake.

That hunger you keep pretending is anxiety.
That door you stand in but never walk through.
That quiet ache that keeps whispering you’re meant for more than survival.

If the end was real.
If the sand was already falling.
Answer me.

Would you still say “I’m fine” when your chest is screaming otherwise.
Would you keep ghosting your own dreams because you’re afraid they might love you back.
Would you keep performing stability like it’s holiness.
Would you keep numbing.
Scrolling.
Negotiating with your desire like you owe it an apology.

Or would you finally move like a man with limited time.
Like someone who realizes every room you enter is one less you’ll ever walk into.
Like someone who remembers he’s alive.

Would you say it.
The truth that chews holes in your sleep.
Would you tell the people you love what you’ve been too careful to admit.
Would you let yourself be seen without the armor.
Would you make the thing you’ve been saving for “someday”.
Would you stop waiting for a mood that never comes.

If the last sunrise was already counted.
If the ending was already printed.
I know what you’d do.

You’d strip your life to the bone.
You’d keep only what feels like breath.
You’d touch slower.
Hold longer.
Laugh with your whole damn chest.
You’d stop chasing safety.
You’d start chasing aliveness.

Because the tragedy was never the dying.
It was dying with your brilliance still trapped in your throat.
Leaving the world quietly when you were built to enter it like weather.

And maybe that’s the mirror you’ve been ducking.

You don’t need a countdown.
You don’t need a crisis.
You don’t need the threat of an ending to wake up.

You just need to admit you’re done living on pause.

Let the ache hum behind your ribs.
A warning.
A blessing.
A reminder that you’re already on borrowed time.

The point was never to fear the ending.

The point was to stop wasting the middle.

// Scorpio Veil