The Shadows That Stay

It’s late again. The air tastes of rain and rust, like the sky’s been crying into my open window. I left the lamp on, not for light, but for the way it makes shadows taller than they should be. Somewhere between the hum of the fridge and the ticking of the clock, I feel them before I see them.

They never knock. They don’t have to. The door of my life has been cracked open for years, and they learned how to slip in without a sound.

I met them when I was young, though back then I didn’t know their name. My world was still small; a few streets, a classroom, the smell of wet grass after school. I remember sitting in the corner of my room one afternoon, knees pulled to my chest, listening to the faint sound of laughter outside. They appeared then, like a shadow stretching over the carpet, sitting beside me without a word. I thought they were kindness itself; someone who didn’t ask me to join in, who didn’t tell me to “cheer up” or “try harder.”

As I grew, they started visiting more often. I’d find them in the hallways of my mind, waiting, their arms folded like they had all the time in the world. They didn’t shout. They didn’t rage. They simply stayed. And in their staying, the days began to blur. Homework lay untouched on my desk; friends’ voices on the phone felt distant, like they were speaking from under water.

I had stopped asking why they came. Maybe I liked the quiet they brought, even if it was the wrong kind. Maybe I needed someone who didn’t demand a smile in return for staying.

Now, I don’t fight them anymore. I let them follow me from the kitchen to the bedroom, from the window to the mirror. I let them rearrange the furniture of my mind. Some days, they even sleep beside me. And I’ve stopped wondering what life would be without them because the truth is, I wouldn’t know where to put all the empty space they’d leave behind.

Tonight, we sit together at the edge of my bed. My tea has gone cold. The rain keeps its own rhythm against the glass. I watch our shadows on the wall, mine, and theirs until I can’t tell which is which. And maybe that’s the point.