Stairwell Wait

Concrete folds beneath worn soles,

steps spiral up—gray, endless.

Damp air smells of old rain,

silence spills between echoes.

Each footfall lands heavier,

like the weight of waiting pressed tight.

The stairwell holds its breath,

shadows pooling in chipped corners.

I climb, half-blind to the rising light,

a loop tightening around my chest.

The walls close in like long regrets,

and the silence presses harder,

just when I thought it might ease.