Who wrote the file on you?

You're taking orders from a stranger. You carry a file on yourself that you never open. It says what you're like under pressure. What you do when a day goes sideways. What you can't be trusted with. It was drafted on your worst days, by a version of you with no better evidence yet.

Every hard hour, some part of you checks the file and reports back. This is who you are, so this is what happens next. It's like an old map app routing you down a road they tore up long ago. Confident voice. Dead road. And half those lines? The cigarette forged them in your handwriting.

Pick one line. I always cave at night. I can't handle stress without a cigarette. Hold it up against what you've been doing lately. Watch it crumble on contact. Then write a new line, plain and true. I've handled hard hours without it. Current facts, in your own handwriting this time.

Put it where you'll see it first thing tomorrow. The mirror. Your lock screen. It'll feel a little bold. It's just accurate. God's been reading the updated version all along. Ask Him for a look. Lord, let me read what You've been reading. Your copy finally matches His.