Unfound

I didn’t learn to be quiet—

I was taught.

By glances, by leaving,

by what wasn’t said

when it should have been.

I live in margins and pauses,

not because I want to—

but because the center

never held me for long.

I am not your idol.

I am not your mystery.

But I wanted to be.

Once.

The kind you stayed to solve.

I am the flicker you catch

in the corner of your eye—

too quick to name,

too familiar to forget.

You’ve walked past me

a hundred times,

and still—

I’m here.

I don’t want to be found.

But I leave breadcrumbs anyway.

I’m not searching for the light.

I’m only learning

how to hold it

without flinching.

Without burning.

Without losing myself in it again.