Available

The calendar came without a name,

blank pages, white squares,

all the same.

Around me, pens were scratching,

filling every date with meaning,

with proof they were going somewhere.

Mine stayed empty.

I flipped through the months

like I was reading someone else's fate,

watching other people's time

get claimed, get consumed,

get turned into something that mattered.

February, March, April—

all blank,

all asking me what I intended

to do with them.

My boss saw the empty grid

and smiled like she'd caught me

doing something wrong.

"No plans?" she asked.

"Not yet," I said,

which was true,

which meant I had no excuse

for existing in this space

where nothing was supposed to happen,

where I was just available,

just waiting,

just the gap between other people's lives,

just the space

that someone else would fill.