There’s a place I visit sometimes…
not quite guilt,
not yet forgiveness.
A small room
furnished with almosts and maybes,
lit by the things I never said.
Through the window
I can see the life I’m living
and the one I left behind,
overlapping,
neither asking to be chosen.
Time pauses here.
Apologies form
but don’t rush out.
And I stand at the threshold,
not ready to leave,
not ready to knock,
learning that this in-between
isn’t a mistake…
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