Still alone, I wait.
Not for someone,
but for something to move inside me —
to rise,
to collapse,
to mean.

The same melody circles back.
Again and again.

Sometimes it comforts me,
like a breath
I forgot I could take.

Other times it drags me
into the storm,
where everything breaks open
and swells.

I’ve played it both ways.
Let it cry in silence.
Let it tremble
in chaos.

And still,
it says the same thing —

that sorrow and relief
are not opposites.

They’re
twin echoes
in the same hall.

And I’m just standing there.
Listening.

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