I am the third chair at a candlelit dinner for two.
Just close enough to feel the heat of not being needed.
Two glasses lean toward each other,
their laughter braiding like ivy,
while mine holds untouched water
reflecting a ceiling no one else sees.
I am the trio note in a duet,
hovering just outside the harmony—
not wrong, not out of tune
Not unnecessary.
They do not notice
how rare it is
to fit like matching bookends,
to move in mirrored light
without ever learning
the language of standing alone.
I am a moon beside two bright stars,
silver and solitary,
learning that even loneliness
Persuades the low tide.
