I'm sitting in my garden of self-doubt, watching weeds rehearse my name. I keep watering their roots like they were meant to stay. A few small flowers bloom too briefly, opening before I turn, and by the time I face them fully, they're gone before I learn. Every window in this house faces something standing still. I unlatch them every morning just to see if one has changed. Happiness arrives in four-second loops, like a song I almost know. I hum until it disappears, then trace the echo. I thought these fences kept me safe. I never asked what safety cost. Somewhere between staying whole and disappearing, I got lost. Love keeps knocking. Trust won't reach the door. The hallway knows my footsteps better than the world beyond. I've memorized every corner of the maze. The map is in my hands, but I never learned to read it. The mask adjusted to my face. Now mirrors hesitate, like they don't recall my name. They say that I am stronger now. Maybe that's what strength became: bark grown thick enough to keep the spring outside. The maze was never built to hold me in, just to keep the world away. Brick by brick I laid it down with every doubt I couldn't say. Self-doubt wearing the gardener's gloves cut back every climbing vine, until even the roses whispered, "You never listened to me." Love keeps knocking. Trust won't reach the door. The hallway knows my footsteps better than the world beyond. I've memorized every corner of the maze. The map is in my hands, but I never learned to read it. Still I keep walking like the walls depend on me. Tomorrow I'll water every weed. The gardener's gloves still fit. I carry the maze from place to place.
