Folded Choices

My fingers trembled, folding the ballot

like a fragile promise pressed too long.

Edges cracked, soft creases,

a map of nerves I traced and erased.

The line snaked past the old church steps,

a breath held tight against an unsure future.

I wondered what weight these small marks

would carry once ink settled on paper.

Vote or not—

the silence behind that choice stretched,

a thin line drawn in a trembling hand,

a quiet act heavier than words.