from the outside
under the old tree
thick with time
i wait.
not sure what for.
the wind moves like a thought
no one says out loud.
soft.
close.
familiar.
but not mine.

i hear it anyway.
it tells things
you only hear
when no one's looking.
quiet truths that press into the skin
and stay there.

somewhere
kids laugh,
easy, open,
like sunlight doesn’t cost anything.
i watch.
behind the edge.
like someone half-drawn.
they belong to it.
i don’t.

i stand still
in a world that moves
without checking
if i’m coming.
they bloom
and i stay seed.
they fill the air
i hold the space
they forget.

i was the one chasing birds
while they made games out of dirt and sky.
i went where the path stopped.
i liked the quiet places
because they didn’t ask me questions.
the forest didn’t mind
if i said nothing.

the stars blinked like answers
that didn’t need to explain themselves.
i liked that.
the trees bent like they were listening.
that meant something.
but still,
this feeling follows me
like fog
just enough to blur things.

i want what they have
the touch
the motion
the easy belonging.
i want to matter
in someone else’s
ordinary day.

but nature
you don’t ask for anything.
you just are.
and maybe with you,
i can just be too.
not too much.
not too little.
just here.

still,
i find myself on the outside.
looking in.
a quiet figure
by the water’s edge.
and i wonder
not loudly,
but real enough
why i always wake up
in someone else’s dream.