035 — Someday Is Not On the Calendar | Talon Z. Gray

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No one tells you the price of keeping your soul intact—
not in dollars,
not in scars,
not in the faces you leave behind.

It accrues quietly,
in the conversations deferred,
the invitations unopened,
the questions swallowed down until even the words feel dangerous.

There’s always a better time,
a tomorrow for apologies,
a future when fear won’t choke you.
But someday never arrives.
It isn’t on the calendar.

We tell ourselves,
"I’ll say it when the stars align.
When I feel strong enough.
When the timing is perfect."

Meanwhile, dust collects on promises never kept.
The canvas waits with only a single brushstroke.
The book sits, its pages blank.

To forgive—
to forgive yourself,
this is the hardest refrain to sing.

We cling to the hope of grand, cinematic moments,
a golden-hour sunset,
a perfect reconciliation—
forgetting the quiet, ordinary hours
already slipping through our fingers.

The check engine light comes on.
Anxiety lingers like smoke in the lungs.
Friendships fade into static.
The coastline of your life changes shape.

Then one night,
as lightning splits the horizon and the blackout drops:
you realize the leap was always yours to take.
And the time for it was never “someday.”

It’s now.