At the Threshold

I stand at the door, my hand on the knob,

uncertain, with nowhere to go, no plan, no job.

My friend takes a leap, suitcase packed tight,

while I linger here, holding onto the night.

The doormat's worn edges curl like my fears,

a dusty reminder of lost hopes and years.

The world beckons, bright with the thrill of new sights,

but I’m rooted in place, lost in indecision’s fights.