Page 23 of The Words of Us

“We speak in whispers, soft and slow,

Afraid of things we don’t yet know.

In glances shared and words unsaid,

We tiptoe toward what lies ahead.

A spark, a smile, a fleeting touch,

A promise that we want too much.

We build our bridges, one by one,

Afraid to fall, but drawn to run.

The walls we keep are thin as air,

A fragile shield we always wear.

But here, tonight, with you so near,

I find it’s worth the risk to care.

We write the stories on our skin,

The places where the light gets in.

And though the end’s a mystery,

I’m here for all that’s yet to be.”

As the last words leave my lips, I let out a breath. The silence that follows is thick, not with judgment, but with something else—an understanding, a connection that I don’t expect. I glance up, and the room is still, every face turned toward me, every eye holding a glimmer of something that makes my heart swell.

I haven’t realized how much I need this. The release of it, the feeling of being heard, of letting the walls come down just a little. There is a moment of quiet, then the room erupts in applause, warm and genuine, washing over me like a wave. I feel the weight of it, the affirmation that my voice matters here, that I’m not alone in whatever I’m feeling.

As I step down from the stage, my legs a little shaky, I make my way back toward the shelves, the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins. I am overwhelmed, but in the best way, caught between the rush of the performance and the realization that this place, this night, is becoming something more to me.

The room feels suddenly too full, too charged, and I slip out the back door to get air, the cool night air hitting me like a splash of water. I lean against the brick wall, closing my eyes and letting the quiet settle around me. My heart is still racing, but there is a sense of calm beneath it, a kind of peace I haven’t felt in a long time.

The door opens softly, and I look up to see Evie step out, her expression a mix of pride and something softer, something that makes my stomach flip. She doesn’t say anything at first, just moves to stand beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as she leans against the wall.

“You were amazing,” she says finally, her voice low and sincere. “I’m so glad you read.”

I shrug, trying to play it off, but the compliment warms me in a way I’m not prepared for. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure... I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve done anything like that, reading without being prepared. But this place, it just makes you want to, you know?”

Evie nods, her eyes fixed on the street beyond. “I get it. That’s why I keep doing these nights. It’s like the room gives you permission to be exactly who you are. No judgment, no pressure, just space to be real.”

I glance at her, catching the hint of vulnerability in her words. She’s built this place, this haven, not just for others, but for herself too. It’s part of her, just like the poems she reads, the way she moves through the crowd, the smile she gives to every performer who stepped up to the mic. I feel a surge of admiration for her, mixed with the thrill of knowing I am becoming part of this world she’s created.

“I almost didn’t come tonight,” I admit, the confession slipping out before I can stop it. “I got this weird message earlier, and it just...rattled me, I guess. Made me want to hide.”

Evie looks at me, her gaze steady and reassuring. “I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad you’re here.”

I feel a smile tug at my lips, small but genuine. “Me too. And hey, your poem, it was perfect. I could listen to you read all day.”

She laughs softly, the sound like music in the quiet alley. “You might be the only one who thinks that.”

“Not a chance,” I say, turning to face her fully. “You have this way of making everything feel lighter. I don’t know how to explain it. Like being around you makes things better.”

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