Let Them Speak

They wear concern
like borrowed clothing,
speaking your name
as though it belongs to them.

Hour after hour,
their voices circle your story,
turning whispers into echoes,
feeding silence with speculation.

Your shadow
has become their favorite conversation.

They watch,
they wonder,
they gather fragments
and mistake them for truth.

Let them.

For those who spend their days
counting your footsteps
often forget
to walk their own path.

Your name was never theirs
to carry.

Your life was never theirs
to narrate.

If your existence
fills their empty hours,
let it.

The moon never pauses
to answer the wolves,
nor does the river
explain itself to the stones.

So let them watch.

Let them whisper.

Let them speak your name
until it grows weary on their tongues.

You were never meant
to live inside their stories.

You were meant
to keep becoming your own.