I built the distance myself.
Invisible, deliberate —
thin as breath, sharp as glass.
Because I’ve seen the way you flinch,
how your body betrays the thought
you’ll never say aloud.

It’s alright.
I’ve learned the art of pretending
not to notice when I’m unwanted.
I stay still,
unthreatening,
something soft to use and forget.

I know my place.
I stay where I’m easy —
a name you don’t have to say,
a presence that dissolves
when the moment ends.

And when you’re finished —
when you’ve taken what you came for —
I’ll fade.
Back into the far corners of the attic,
quiet, harmless,
a shadow folded into the dust.

You’ll never have to worry about me.
I was never meant to be anything
that left a mark.

— © Wynter Rayne 2025. All Rights Reserved.