I once danced to the rhythm of solitude,

walls echoing only my own hum.

But here, among their unpolished notes,

I learned a symphony of shared noise.

 

The table brims with half-heard stories,

hands brushing, laughter spilling like overfilled cups.

Their lives braided loosely with mine,

chaos folding into an unexpected calm.

 

At night, I wander hallways painted with echoes,

footsteps softer now, knowing soon they’ll fade.

Each shadow holds a memory—

the scent of dinner, the weight of a niece's small hand.

 

I gather them all—

fragments of a home I will not take,

but that will take pieces of me.

 

The door awaits, its handle cool under my touch,

a threshold between love lived and love chosen.

And as I step forward,

I leave behind only my shadow,

but take the warmth in my veins.

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