i stand in the corridor with wet hands
watching two connections bend toward each other
i kept their names under my tongue like a seed
believing love could expand without a ceiling
i built a small sanctuary out of our freedom
only to watch them step inside without me
the shame is a cold needle under the skin
when i see them form an orbit in the shallow light
a spectator to an intimacy i bled over
listening to them recast my longing as a burden
and my open heart as an encroachment
until my own freedom feels like an exile
they named my grieving a flawed perception
this ache that was only ever a desperate prayer
this soft monstrous wishing to be chosen in the room
and the shame is heavier than the ruined body
because how do i navigate an open door
i was only ever allowed to watch from outside
i collapse inward beneath the weight of my own skin
not because wanting them both was a sin
but because abundance still leaves a void when you are left behind
and i would have stretched my own heart into a universe
if it kept me from standing in the cold
begging to be tethered
—lyra moon (they called it abundance and forgot to count me)
August 18, 2026