Ajar

I used to follow light that moved;

The kind that slipped between the trees,

And made me believe the street was warmer

Than it ever truly felt beneath my feet.

I mistook motion for invitation,

Thought that distance was a language

I simply hadn't yet been taught,

And welcomed that non-existent challenge.

I followed people who stood

Like unlocked doors, left slightly ajar.

Misguided, I thought narrowness meant depth,

And leaned in with the hope of arrival.

I was outrun by my own attention, 

Traversing uncharted, silent rooms

No one else had any interest in exploring,

Nor had they ever thought to enter.

I endlessly rehearsed conversations

That never came to pass,

Placing pauses, attributing shape to absence, 

Attempting to complete Silence's unfinished sentence.

I linger still in abandoned hallways,

Where echoes closely follow,

And wonder if the rooms I leave behind

Will ever whisper secrets for my ears alone.

I still catch myself measuring

The weight of another's glance,

And still reach out for the shadowed hands

That may never reach back for mine.

But sometimes, I tread lightly,

Feeling the uneven stones tremble beneath my feet,

Noticing the faint warmth of my own candle,

Its glow neither steady, nor certain.

Love purrs in small gestures,

In pauses I no longer seek to fill,

In doors I close by choice,

And in the silence I've learned to embrace.

Whole? Finished? I cannot promise this,

Yet I have begun to carve a path

Where my worth will no longer be defined

By another's fleeting glimmer.

My steps remain slow and cautious,

But grounded in care and hope,

Knowing the journey will twist and bend,

And that I am still learning to walk.