You’re left with 4500 

It is time isn’t it 

To surrender and let’s go for an adventure 

Take away this deep ache 

Let’s be free 

Despite the daily unseen battles 

You still chose the lotus 

What it’s meant to replace 

The heart crumbled 

I could not breathe 

Cause breathing meant tears free falling 

And the ache that grows in my chest 

I remember you 

That would never remember me 

Or think of me in the way I do 

And it felt lonely 

To be the only one that feels it all so deeply still while you move on just fine 

With no trace 

Like nothing happened 

I’ve received two similar comments this month that I haven’t quite been able to sit well with.  

Maybe this is too harsh of an analogy, but it feels like just because I carry a visible burden, it suddenly becomes the only thing people see — as though that one visible weight is enough to define me by lack, flaw, or limitation.  

As though a person becomes “disabled” not because of who they are, but because others can no longer see beyond the thing they carry.

And maybe what unsettles me most is how dangerous that assumption can become. Because once people decide for me what I can or cannot carry, it quietly creates an escape route — an out from asking, expecting, or believing I would have shown up otherwise. As though the assumption itself becomes permission to withdraw the ask before I even have the chance to answer it.

Are you the romantic 

The things you do they will never know 

Like walk a distance in the sun 

Just to be near the building they would end up in 

Even though you would not be meeting

Sitting at a cafe across the road

Walking pass the block path where the balcony would face 

Deliberately finding, ordering, tasting a sandwich which was mentioned in passing 

Watching them settle into their cab till you only see the taillights but they do not see you taking it all in 

Waiting for the actor you want to take their place before choosing to share the story 

Watching the act and falling into that comfort to embrace the closure 

At the crossings they became the viewpoints and you are drawn to that energy 

Even for a second within the same space just a brush 

The many unsaid moments 

The rain made a sombre shade of black on the bark

Green became highlights to this silhouette 

Dews made edges softer 

It has been seventeen years and I do not feel too far off from then 

Maybe my shadow has changed a shade 

Still trying to find my calling 

And wondering why I am still messing up