Bought the expensive shirt. Wore the old one. Took the good watch. Checked my phone. Had something clever ready. Never said it. Nobody noticed. Good. There was a time I needed every room to know I’d entered. Now I like the corner. I like the wall. I like hearing everyone else tell the story wrong. Nothing to prove. Nothing to win. Nothing to drag through the door with me. Nothing to prove. That’s new. I used to count every silence as something I had lost. Every closed door as a judgment. Every pause as a cost. Now sometimes people don’t call. Sometimes I don’t call either. The world keeps turning without making a point of it. I’m learning from that. No, I’m not giving up. I’m putting things down. Different thing. Nothing to prove. Nothing to win. Nothing to turn into evidence. Nothing to prove. Still strange. Still good. Someone across the room laughs too loudly. I almost join in. Then I do.
