The Moment

Tuesday morning. Same machine.

Same person next to me, mid-stride,

eyes forward in that gym way,

both of us pretending we're alone.

This morning the mirror caught it—

their eyes found mine.

One second. Maybe less.

They held it. Actual contact.

An offer, maybe.

I looked down.

Just like that. Just looked away.

Chose the ground instead of their face.

Chose the silence I'd maintained for months

over whatever that moment was

supposed to mean.

Now I keep running the numbers.

What would have happened if I'd held it.

If I'd nodded. If I'd done anything

but look away like they'd caught me

doing something I shouldn't be.

They were just looking back.

They were just seeing me

the way I've been seeing them every Tuesday

for however long.

And I broke it.

Not with anger. Not with anything.

Just with a choice so small and so complete

that it closed something I didn't know

was still open.

The machine hums. My legs keep moving.

Next Tuesday I'll be back.

Same machine.

Different.