Recently, I've been spending much of my time thinking about regret. Regret and its accompanying conviction that there is a perfect, placid life, my own alternate existence, pristine and simple, existing in a neighboring reality in which certain turns in the road were never set upon. A world where I made different choices and crossed paths with different people. A world I know doesn't exist and isn't true. I know that. I had learned it. But it is an irresistible fantasy, if only because it implies I have some control over my fate.
