The Extra

 

“The Extra”

I often wonder

what am I doing here,

in this moment, this breath, this blur

of other people’s stories

where I am the pause, never the plot.

I wake, I move, I smile in place

like furniture no one chose

just inherited,

kept out of habit or

for lack of energy to rearrange.

Some days, I feel like

an ellipsis at the end of a sentence

that would’ve been just fine without me

maybe sharper, cleaner,

more poetic in my absence.

I see their laughter stretch

like light through stained glass,

and I - dust motes

floating in that spill of joy

not the color, just the clutter.

Would it matter

if I quietly stepped aside ?

Would their skies seem wider,

would their rooms breathe easier,

would the silence feel more pure ?

Perhaps I am

just that extra chair in the corner

not ugly, not needed,

but once it’s gone,

the space sings in symmetry again.

And still,

I exist

aware, unsure,

a whisper in a world

of louder, lovelier songs.

Just wondering

what this breath is for,

if anyone hears it

but me.

Copyright Renu Vyas