A Gentle Return
Coming back to myself feels like breathing.
I didn’t come back all at once
It was more like a slow signal
returning to a radio I’d stopped tuning.
﹁﹂
First, I noticed my hands again.
How they reach for the kettle
without asking permission.
How they shake, a little,
When the morning is too quiet.
﹁﹂
I washed my face and actually felt the water.
Not a dramatic scene,
just soap, and the mirror fogging up,
and me—still here, apparently.
﹁﹂
Some days I still flinch
When a door closes too hard.
Some days I laugh at a stupid video
and then I’m mad I laughed,
Like joy owes me rent.
﹁﹂
I bought oranges because they smelled like childhood
and because I could.
I peeled one over the sink,
strings clinging like old stories,
and let the juice run down my wrist
as if I had time to waste.
﹁﹂
Outside, wind worried the trees,
And they didn’t break.
They just… moved.
I tried that.
﹁﹂
I put my phone facedown
and heard my own breath
doing its small, faithful job.
I don’t know what happens next
But today, my lungs chose me.
About the Creator
Milan Milic
Hi, I’m Milan. I write about love, fear, money, and everything in between — wherever inspiration goes. My brain doesn’t stick to one genre.
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Comments (1)
I read this over twice. I didn't know what you were coming back from. But apparently you are coming back to life again. I was really struck by the line, Like joy owes me rent. I think all of us feel this way sometimes. You are an excellent writer, profound and expressive. Nicely written poem, I enjoyed it.