Echo Rooms

Sometimes love walks into a room

and hears an echo that isn’t its own.

It says good morning,

But what you hear is

Don’t leave me.

Every silence becomes a test,

Every pause is a prophecy.

You scroll through messages,

Measuring your worth

By the timing of a reply.

You smile,

But your body doesn’t believe you.

It remembers nights of doors slammed,

Voices that cut,

Hands that withheld.

It whispers, 'Be ready to run.'

So you love from the edge of the doorway—

Half in, half gone,

A hand always on the handle.

Friendships feel safer,

But even there,

You count the times you reached out first.

You wonder if they’d notice

The day you stopped trying.

Unhealed pain builds cities inside you,

Each street named after someone

Who promised to stay.

You keep walking them

Searching for closure

Like a child looking for a home

That no longer exists.

But someday,

A quiet hand will rest on your shoulder

And not demand anything.

It will say,

You can stop running now.

And your body will believe it.

The echoes will fade,

One heartbeat at a time.