the watcher

i've seen love slip through the doorway
but it never says my name
just leaves fingerprints on the air
like i was never part of the frame

they tell me secrets in lowlight
about the ones they do adore
then say i'm wise, say i'm kind
but never stay, never yours

i'm the silence in the background
the line they always skip
the suitcase packed for leaving

sometimes i wonder

was i made to observe?

or did i just end up here

because no one turned around?

even watchers get tired

even shadows want to be held

even the wind longs to belong

will i ever be more

than the one they confide in

about the people they actually love?

more than a pause in the plot

a placeholder in their silence

there's a heartbreak

in always being almost

almost seen

almost chosen

almost enough

just once

i want to be the one they stay for

not the memory they misplace

they call me wise,

call me kind

but never mine

even poets need something to write about

and i've been the metaphor

for someone else's loneliness

more times than i'll admit out loud

does the moon ever get tired

of lighting up lovers

who never look her in the eye?

does she ever wish

someone would say:

you're the reason the sky doesn't feel empty tonight

instead of waxing poetic about the stars?

even watchers want to be watched

even once

but no one loves the narrator

no one stays for the monologue

they skip the scene

and call it fate