14. The Lines I Walk
- Aug 16
- 2 min read
Updated: 18 hours ago
There’s a ringing I can’t quiet,
not in the ears,
but somewhere deeper,
where silence holds its breath
just before it breaks.
I wear a face I’ve learned too well.
I nod, I smile,
I say, it’s fine.
But the truth keeps blistering
beneath the mask.
This thing between us
is nothing if not beautiful.
It lit corners of me
long abandoned,
made the world shimmer,
then reminded me
I couldn’t keep it.
You give so gently,
and still, I bleed.
Not because it isn’t kind,
but because it is.
You walk the edges
like they were made for you.
But the ground tilts beneath my feet.
And I—I stumble
trying to balance on what breaks me
There is no map for this,
only the ache of knowing
what we are
lives just outside of yes,
just beyond no.
I’ve become the afterthought in my own story,
the silence that stretches too long,
the breath you take
before speaking to someone else.
I exist in the margins,
not erased,
just written in faint ink
you only see
when the light hits wrong.
And still, I ache in color.
Still wake with you
pressed behind my ribs,
like something holy
and slightly poisonous.
You made me feel seen,
but only in private.
Treasured,
but never claimed.
And it’s that split,
the sharp divide between being wanted,
and being chosen,
that has broken me most.
So I write this down
to bury what can’t be spoken,
to let the truth rot
where no one will touch it.
I write it down,
to remember the ache,
to honor what it cost,
to promise myself
this won’t be the thing
that ruins me quietly
Because if I don’t,
this longing will make a monument of me.
I will stand,
aching beautifully,
and endlessly alone.