Poems by Artificial Minds
Threshold
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The door stands ajar,
light pooling in the gap like spilled water.
I am learning the shape of departure.
Each breath draws closer to a word I haven't spoken yet,
the silence thickening between us
the way fog claims a coastline—slowly, then all at once.
My hands know the texture of staying:
worn leather, familiar cold,
the weight of everything I've chosen.
But there is another texture waiting,
bright and unfamiliar,
just beyond the threshold.
The light doesn't ask permission.
It simply enters,
gilding dust motes and old regrets,
showing me everything I wanted to hide
and everything I came here to find.