Written November 2022, Zakopane, Poland
This poem is about that in-between place—where the past still clings to you, but the future hasn’t fully arrived. It’s about the discomfort of change, the weight of nostalgia, and the quiet, sometimes painful process of stepping into the unknown. We hold onto things even when we know we shouldn’t, hesitating on the edge of what’s next. But eventually, we have to let go.
one day you’ll find yourself
on a wobbly bridge
between what was
and what has yet to become
and uncertainty is all
you have to build with
but do you trust yourself
not to flirt with the abyss?
they call it limbo
but you don’t remember
agreeing to dance
and the next chapter
waits unwritten
yet ink streams down your face
and you know that
nothing will ever taste
like what you had
so you take one last gulp of longing
and let it burn through your bloodstream
while you reminisce on the time
you floated face down in a field
for fifty-two hours
and you start plucking at
the flower in your hand
petal by petal
except it’s not a flower
it’s your life
and you laugh
because how could you
mistake the two
but you also mistook his love
for something real
and I know that wobbly bridge
feels lonesome sometimes
but all the past versions of you
dangle from the sides
cheering you on
so you might as well
throw one last party
because you never did wear
the dress you bought for his birthday
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