The Stairwell Carries

I took the stairs and heard

footsteps stop on the landing above.

Breathing. Then quiet sobs

that the concrete walls

couldn't help but carry.

I kept walking but slower,

listening to the sound travel down,

watching it meet me

on the third flight—

someone's private breaking,

someone's specific grief

echoing off the walls

like the stairwell was designed

to amplify what should stay private.

I could have stopped.

I could have climbed up.

I could have been the person

who interrupts their own pain

to help someone else.

Instead I walked slower,

listening to the walls

do what they do—

carry the sound of breaking

down and down and down,

let nothing go unheard,

refuse the mercy of silence.

By the bottom,

the sobs had stopped.

The stairwell was empty

except for the echo

still hanging,

still refusing to leave.