An If in Life

Why is there an if in life?
Why does every road divide?
Why can one choice become a knife
That leaves another life behind?

Why do we say, ‘if I had known,’
As though the past could hear us speak?
As though the words we should have shown
Could find the mouths we failed to seek?

Why does ‘if’ mean there was a choice?
A moment where we could have stayed?
A different path, a different voice,
A different life we might have made?

And why, if life is meant to be,
Must we imagine what could change?
Why show us all we cannot see,
Then make the things we know feel strange?

Perhaps the if is why we care,
Why every moment feels so brief.
For if no other life was there,
Perhaps there’d be no need for grief.

Maybe an if is just a sign
That nothing living stays the same,
That every life is drawn in time
And every choice becomes a name.