The Threshold

I sat on their porch while they went inside.

They said they'd be quick.

The porch light was on.

Moths circled it—the ones that don't belong to anyone,

that just follow light.

The street beyond the porch was dark.

Cars parked. Empty sidewalk.

The kind of street that goes quiet at night.

Twenty minutes passed.

Or maybe more.

I wasn't keeping track.

I was waiting in that in-between space—

outside but not gone,

present but not required to do anything.

The moths kept circling.

The light stayed on.

The street stayed dark.

I thought about how you can be alone

in someone else's space.

How you can be outside their door

and completely outside your own life.

They came back eventually.

Apologized for taking so long.

I said it was fine.

But I stayed in that moment

a little longer.

Sitting on their porch.

Watching the moths.

Watching the dark street.

Knowing I had to go back in soon,

back to the conversation,

back to being part of something.

For a few more seconds,

I was just a person sitting outside,

waiting for nothing,

watching the light.