A King Without a Kingdom

Somewhere breathes a quiet woman,

I wear a crown she’ll never see,

A monarch ruling empty rooms,

A kingdom built inside of me.

Time moves like it knows this ending—

That solitude has signed my name,

I walk beside her, close as shadows,

Yet never close enough to claim.

We orbit in polite alignment,

No collision, no disguise,

I’m archived gently as “the friend,”

A footnote in her private skies.

She feels like fog before the morning,

Present, gone, and undefined,

I reach like glass toward falling rain,

It touches—never stays—behind.

She isn’t stone, yet she’s a stronghold,

Walls made of almost and maybe,

I don’t believe she’s meant to bar me—

Some doors just don’t acknowledge keys.

I carry no resentment here,

No bitter songs of what went wrong,

Just unanswered questions drifting,

Like radio waves that hum too long.

I’m not heartbroken—just uncharted,

A witness, not a wounded man,

Still learning how to name the space

Between what is and what I am.