Toilet Seats.

I don’t have to be here.

Not really.

Not like before, when the walls were the only arms

that ever held me, when the lock on the door

felt like the only thing keeping me safe,

when the tiles knew my name better than people did.

*

Now I have friends.

Real ones.

Ones who would notice if I vanished,

who would check their phones,

who would ask, where did you go?

And still, I go.

*

Still, I find myself here,

Legs pressed to the cold floor,

listening to the hum of the world outside.

Not part of it, not apart from it,

just hovering in the in-between.

*

It’s not loneliness, not exactly.

Not the way it used to be,

No, this is different.

This is quiet and quiet is something

I don’t know how to let go of.

*

Because even when laughter is waiting for me,

even when I could be anywhere else,

I am still here, in the hush of a space

that never asks me to be anything,

never expects, never questions….

Just lets me breathe, lets me be,

lets me stay.

*

I still sit on toilet seats.

Not cause I have to, not cause I’m hiding,

not cause I’m lonely and alone like before—

but still, I shut the door.

*

Click.

Lock in place,

Welcome to my quiet space,