The Gate

During our time together, there was a gate.

I never went past it.

I was never invited inside.
He would stand there waiting, beside it, every time.

At first, it felt practical.
Later, it became familiar.
Eventually, I understood it as something else.

It was a physical boundary I was not meant to cross.
And quietly, it was an emotional one too.

I respected it.

I didn’t push.
I didn’t ask.
I stayed where I was meant to stand.

When things ended, I returned his stuff to that same gate.

Not inside.
Not left somewhere uncertain.
Placed carefully where the boundary had always been.

I didn’t disappear.
I didn’t ghost.

I ended it the way it had been held.

At the gate.

Some boundaries are spoken.
Others are lived.

And sometimes, the ending simply returns us
to where we were always standing.