Sometimes,
you find an empty stairwell.
Seldom used, not that clean.
But a gentle kind of quiet fills it,
the kind with chatter in the distance
and the smell of coffee from a nearby cafe.

You pause on the landing
between two flights.
A place between places,
a nowhere floor.
It's not a destination,
it's nowhere anyone's going.

Take a deep breath,
have a moment alone,
a moment of peace,
in this nowhere place.

Blank journal pages:
All have dates, but instead of writing,
you just stared for ages
as your pen left a black inky pool.

I could lose myself in that pool
I dip my fingers in ink
and stare at the swirls
as I try not to let myself sink

Sometimes,
lots of times,
I look back.

I fear I will turn to salt
like the taste of tears
reaching your lips.

I can't help it,
to turn back and look
it's human nature.

What do I look back at?

the good times
the bad times
lots of times

I'm different now
not bad not good not (yet) salt
just different.

The other day
my dad asked if
I am happy
and I didn't know
how I could answer
and I couldn't lie
but I couldn't worry him
there was a long silence
I took a deep breath
and said
I'm doing my best