Traveler in a Suitcase!

I met a city that refuses to recognize.

It speaks in engines and humidity,

assigns me a room with no reflective surfaces,

files it under mercy.

I met a man who keeps time without instruments.

He doesn’t measure me, he measures quiet.

He asks for nothing, which is almost punitive.

Kindness is an unlocked door; I stand in the threshold and do not cross.

We negotiated a procedure:

I will appear intact if no one knocks.

He will ignore the manifest unless it leaks.

We sealed it with coffee, not signatures.

I did not run. I executed an evacuation.

Maps burn cleaner than memories.

Airports bless the ordinary.

Boarding passes, numbered exits, a seat that doesn’t ask for history.

The year ended without applause.

Somewhere between passwords and polite faces,

confidence lost its badge.

They didn’t let it back in.

I’m not soft. Not sweet.

Just calibrated.

Volume correct in hallways, unreliable at doors.

Mirrors filed a grievance.

Sugar first, teeth later.

I argued procedure with glass

until the verdict fogged, prints not mine.

I know the scripts:

breathe, reframe, log, dispose.

Knowing and believing don’t speak.

Most days I look functional.

Jokes for the lobby. A little shine for the cameras.

Just enough light to distract the search.

Here’s the part I don’t say: the floor is a river.

If I stand still, I drift.

If I run, the building comes with me.

They smile like receipts.

kindness itemized,

terms stapled to the back.

If I become easier.

Edges sanded, voice compliant,

do I earn a safer shelf, or do I vanish cleaner?

Tell me, auditor of my storms: what passes here?

When the lights drop to maintenance, I write you a memo no one else can read:

If bones bloom, the system picked flowers over fire.

If petals cover everything, don’t call it surrender.

Call it finished.

I’ll relabel the ache “noise.”

Name the silence “proof.”

Stand where walls pretend to be exits

and practice not existing loudly.

Privately, a question won’t retire:

if I edit this piece of me,

will the alarms stop?

If I come out standard-issue, rounded, balanced,

do I become someone to love, or just easier to manage?

If there’s a riddle, I’ll keep the answer off-site.

If there’s a door, I’ll be the hinge.

If there’s a dragon, I’ll lie still

and let the garden win.

Tell me, quietly, in that voice that makes smoke behave:

am I an upgrade you’d keep,

or a patch that only silences warnings?

I’m not asking for rescue. I’m asking for your coat.

The one that smells like rain and old vinyl,

so the night doesn’t think I’m available.

Because yes, I could smooth the glitch you circle with your thumb.

But would that make me holdable,

or merely easier to tolerate