Visible

I stood on the concrete

and watched the camera light blink on.

There it was—

that small red eye

recording my waiting,

capturing me

in the act of being

uninvited.

Three minutes.

Inside, laughter.

The kind that comes

from not being interrupted,

the kind that lives in living rooms

when the door stays closed.

I had my keys.

I could have turned them,

could have walked in.

But the point was

that I was standing here,

the point was that they watched me,

the point was that they chose

not to move—

That was the thing.

Not the doorbell.

Not the waiting.

But the knowing

that they had already decided

I wasn't worth opening the door for,

that I was worth watching

but not worth letting in.

The camera doesn't have a heart.

It just captures.

It just shows

that I stood there,

visible,

and they let me

stay outside.