nandini00
Active Ranker
There is a room I keep returning to
where no one else has ever been.
It is not empty,
just occupied
by a version of me
that does not reach for anything.
We sit across from each other sometimes.
Or maybe we are the same chair,
holding the same weight
from different angles.
There are things I could say.
Questions that rise
and then settle back down
like dust that has learned
not to expect light.
I avoid my own eyes.
The room inside shifts…
just before something honest arrives.
No argument.
No forgiveness.
No unraveling.
Just a quiet arrangement,
me, beside myself,
close enough to feel
something breathing
and not know
if it is comfort
or distance.
Nothing resolves here.
Nothing asks it to.
I remain.
where no one else has ever been.
It is not empty,
just occupied
by a version of me
that does not reach for anything.
We sit across from each other sometimes.
Or maybe we are the same chair,
holding the same weight
from different angles.
There are things I could say.
Questions that rise
and then settle back down
like dust that has learned
not to expect light.
I avoid my own eyes.
The room inside shifts…
just before something honest arrives.
No argument.
No forgiveness.
No unraveling.
Just a quiet arrangement,
me, beside myself,
close enough to feel
something breathing
and not know
if it is comfort
or distance.
Nothing resolves here.
Nothing asks it to.
I remain.
