A Chair Away
Still Here, Just Quieter
I feel removed.
Not gone.
Just… set slightly to the side.
Like I’m sitting in my own life
but a chair away from where I used to be.
Everything still happens.
Time still works.
People still talk and laugh and expect things.
I just don’t reach the same way anymore.
It isn’t sadness.
That surprises me.
There’s no sharp edge to it.
No panic.
Just a quiet absence
where urgency used to live.
I think I’m fading,
but gently.
Like a sound lowering itself
without asking permission.
Like fog thinning instead of lifting.
There’s apathy here, yes…
but also relief.
Relief from wanting too much.
From carrying every feeling
like it was my responsibility to keep it alive.
I don’t ache the way I once did.
That used to scare me.
Now it feels like rest.
Like setting down something heavy
and not rushing to pick it back up.
I watch myself slipping a little
and I don’t chase it.
I don’t fight it.
I just notice.
If I’m disappearing,
it’s not dramatic.
It’s not a goodbye.
It’s more like loosening my grip
and letting the world keep spinning
without asking me to hold it together.
I’m still here.
Just quieter.
Just lighter.
Just not pressing so hard
against the fact of being alive.
©Lisa Marie 2026
I have felt that way before in my life, but definitely not now. I wouldn't mind getting back to it, too. :-)