The Art Of Losing Myself.

I lose myself in their eyes,

in the curl of a smile I will never know,

the hush between words that speak volumes,

and I’m but a fading echo.

*

I lose myself in their gestures,

the subtle ways hands move,

feet that move along paths I don’t see,

how voices carry fragments of lives I will never lead-

only witness

small bits

but never the whole puzzle.

*

I lose myself in streets,

in markets humming with strangers,

in windows glowing with stories,

in laughter that isn’t mine,

and sorrow that passes like wind,

and my heart’s turmoil dissolves in it.

*

I lose myself in their world,

not to escape, not to hide,

but to simply watch,

to be present without owning it,

to let the weight of others’ lives

drown the weight of knowing myself too well.

*

I lose myself in every little thing beside me,

in the way someone laughs without looking back,

in the tilt of a head, the pause in a word,

and suddenly my chest feels lighter

to be outside,

decentered,

unseen.

*

I lose myself in crowded rooms,

not by fading like a wallflower,

but by noticing as wildflower in a field.

the way lives brush past like water,

stories spill unguarded

and I, for once, do not count my own,

do not find how I intertwine

or connect in the middle.

I cease to exist

not about me, not anymore.

*

Somewhere between watching and exhaling,

I find the self I usually guard

has loosened its grip,

has learned to breathe.

*

I lose myself,

and for a moment,

the world is full,

and I am small,

and it is enough.

*****

epilogue.

I stare elsewhere,

step out of my head

and lose myself in them.

Authors note-

there’s a quiet relief in not being the center of everything.

in watching, instead of measuring.

in noticing, instead of comparing.

sometimes, the mind softens

when it realises it doesn’t have to carry itself so heavily.

this poem is what it feels like

to step outside of yourself

and just… be.