Fallin’
There was something comforting
about being misunderstood quietly.
The last train arrived half-empty,
its windows trembling with rain and pale reflections.
No one looked at me long enough
to ask what I was becoming.
Above the sleeping stores,
a broken sign kept flickering blue into the dark
like it was trying, and failing,
to remember its own purpose.
I used to think
every strange part of me
needed softer edges.
Needed a name people could pronounce
without hesitation.
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But tonight,
I let my reflection dissolve against the glass
while the city dragged its tired lights across the river.
For once,
I did not reach out to fix the blur.
Even the static between radio stations
sounded gentler after midnight.
Like the world had finally grown too exhausted
to demand another version of me.
Some dreams are not meant
for crowded rooms or daylight voices.
Some hearts survive better
inside quiet places
where nothing needs to be explained.
And maybe that is why
the cold no longer frightens me.
The streets are still unfamiliar,
the silence still deep enough to drown in,
yet somehow—
for the first time,
the night did not ask me
to become someone else.
