In the Margin

The space between the door's close and the lock's click— a breath held, a secret's last moment before silence swallows it whole.

I've learned to live here, in the margins of other people's conversations, where words haven't yet landed, where the mind still tastes possibility.

The light comes in sideways through these gaps, turning dust into constellations, making temporary what was meant to be permanent.

Every ending was once a threshold, a place where we stood uncertain, not yet knowing which side we'd chosen.

Now I wait in the margin again, patient as paper catching ink, ready to hold whatever comes next.