Unwanted, I became the empty chair, the name no mouth remembered in its prayer. Unloved, uncounted, aching without end, I called the dark my only honest friend. The cuts were not a language blood could teach; the rope lay coiled, its silence out of reach. I’d lost all hope. Yet through the wall, a sound: a neighbor asking if I was around. No grand salvation—just my name, once more. I set my cup down. Walked toward the door.