questions don’t live rent-free.
i pay for them daily
in the pause before i open my eyes,
in the stretch of silence between
brushing my teeth and leaving the house.

i don’t even want answers.
just quiet.
just enough stillness
to make coffee without thinking
about my funeral.

who will be there?
will i even make it
to grandchildren?
will they know the sound of my laugh,
the weight of my arms,
the way i stare too long when i love something?

will i ever be
a dad?
a husband?
someone who feels like home
to someone else?

someone worth
having children with,
worth staying for?

the urge to leave
never says goodbye.
it just lingers in the corners,
waits until i’m lowest,
then whispers its name
like an old song.

and still,
none of this showed up today.
these thoughts didn’t knock.
they didn’t barge in
like a drunk friend
or some stranger needing a phone call.

they’re more like
the sheets i haven’t changed,
the dust that outlines the mirror,
The trash in my car.

they don’t haunt me.
they live here.
and they stay
because i let them.