Four Years On

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It’s our four-year anniversary today.

Strange how close and far it feels

like I could touch that moment still,

but also see how time now steals.

I stumbled on a page I wrote

back in January, just this year.

The words were heavy, edged with doubt,

a voice unsure, both far and near.

I sounded low, and maybe lost,

afraid of what might lie ahead.

And as I read through more of these,

that same old thread was gently spread.

A theme of fear, of holding back,

of circling thoughts that never rest.

A mind convinced the future waits

with trials I may not best.

I told Baz I still feel the same;

that quiet ache, that worn-out song.

He says it’s good I write it out,

but I’m not sure if he is wrong.

Because what if I just feed the loop,

repeat the doubts that hold me small?

What if each line I write in pain

just builds another wall?

Or maybe not.

Perhaps there’s more.

What if writing’s not a trap,

but rather how I edge toward

the parts of me I’ve yet to map.

Perhaps it’s time to shift the tone,

not fake a smile, or force a light

but plant a seed, however small,

and give it space, and give it night.

So here I am, still not quite sure,

but trying something else instead

to let a little hope come through

before the ink runs red.

I don’t believe that staying stuck

will get me anywhere worth grace.

So maybe, now, it’s time to try

and write myself into a better place.

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