Do the decisions we make shape our destiny?

The scent of flowers lingers in the air, carried by a gentle breeze that whispers secrets to whoever wants to hear. The premier beams of light translate to a beautiful field of flowers, home to the most colorful group of butterflies. If butterflies live here, then on my stomach, there are vultures, holding the corpse of the wolves that left their packs.

I raised my head slowly, as if this could protect me from that message.

“When will you get here?”

The decision was not hard to make, worsening my disgrace. Chasing comfort, the excuses, and circumstances shielded me from guilt, but deep down, I knew the truth. Resting my worries on him, we spent the afternoon together, pretending mellowness, and called it a day while laughing on the way home, after a cup of coffee.

Throughout my school years, I had the express number of one true friend, a bond that withstood time, until a boy came. A quiet distance filled the space between us when I no longer shared each of my thoughts with the same person. Later, when my family decided to move to another city, I was dropped in free fall, doomed to lurk the final debacle. Underneath the tree by my bedroom window, I buried a friend, useless memories, and the best part of me.

During a mid-year holiday, my parents planned a trip back to our home. I missed my boy to the point of blindly perceiving this as the only matter in the world, abdicating time with my friends, only to have it all with him. Moments that became meaningless once I was gone.

Life in the new house was heavy with unspoken grievances. However, another visit home deluged me with the thirst to bring back lost things, treasures I learned to love only when it was too late. Drunk in pain, I unearthed the time capsule beneath the tree by my window, desperate for a compass. Inside, a letter awaited me—a message from my future self.

“From Laura Lopes, dated 2032”

Reading over the paper, words lashed and burned, like lightning. In them, I saw my pride, my regrets, and the slow descent into emptiness. Life had become a game of checking the days on calendars, passively hoping for salvation.

Reaching the end of the letter, a painful truth was revealed: I had let pride dictate my actions, pushing away someone I truly loved. Why had I never apologized? Why had I allowed distance to grow? As the realization dawned, a tingling crept up my body—the past could not be changed, but the future could be rewritten.

Determined, I reached out to her with a message. Weeks passed before a reply came, but I waited with anticipation rather than anxiety. Slowly, we rebuilt what was lost. Laughter and shared moments replaced sorrow. Standing beneath that tree once again, I knew I had reclaimed something invaluable. My best friend, my home, and perhaps, this time, forever.