It was bound to happen. As if the ache in my leg wasn’t a constant reminder of this.
It wasn’t unexpected. As if the grape-sized mass was the parting gift I deserved.
It was avoidable. As if the concerns and fears I cried fell on deaf ears.
It wasn’t escapable. As if there were no other way out.
It was fated. As if the chances of me getting out unharmed were impossible.
It wasn’t destined. As if the trajectory of my life lies in one place.
It was certain. As if the bruises will fade away with the memory.
It wasn’t unpreventable. As if the writing wasn’t on the wall.