I come to the edge of your life like an old friend,
always gentle, always waiting.
I don’t bang on the door.
I sit on your porch. I hum a song you once knew.
Sometimes I catch your eye
—in the mirror, in the silence after laughter—
and I smile.
But you look away.
You run to noise, to motion,
to the comfort of beating hearts and busy hands.
You curse me when I get too close,
pretend I’m a thief, a shadow,
something I never wanted to be.
I’ve never taken.
Only received.
But I understand.
The living must resist me—
it’s part of their nature.
Still, I’ll be here,
when your running slows.
When you finally sit down.
And I’ll say,
“I was never far. I only ever meant to hold you.”