I sit in the corner,
where the world moves past me.

I laugh, I nod,
but in the spaces between,
I wonder if I’m actually here
or just an echo.

I turn small things into lifelines,
and then—just like that—they fade.

People don’t leave loudly,
just quietly, subtly,
like a book set down
and never picked up again.

Maybe that’s fine.
Maybe that’s just how it is.
A quiet, familiar tune,
played on the world’s smallest violin.
Not loud enough to stop anyone,
but always playing.