A Place That Was Never Mine

By Khwaish Aggarwal

I exist in the spaces between—  

the afterthought of a plan,  

the name that doesn’t come up first,  

the pause before a polite reply.  

I watch them weave a world around me,  

arms linked, laughter spilling like sunlight,  

and I stand just outside the glow,  

close enough to feel its warmth,  

but never enough to be the flame.  

I say the right things,  

nod at the right times,  

hold my breath when silence feels too heavy—  

but I wonder if I disappeared,  

if I left this space they let me borrow,  

would they notice the air missing me?  

I have friends, I think.  

Friends who forget,  

friends who move on,  

friends who never quite mean to leave me behind  

but never quite mean to take me along, either.  

And I try not to blame them,  

but when I see them in places I never knew they’d be,  

when I hear the stories I was never meant to be part of,  

it carves me open in a way I pretend doesn’t hurt.  

I tell myself I belong,  

but the truth is—  

I have only ever been allowed. 

And maybe that's worse.  

By Khwaish Aggarwal