THE WAITING ROOM – AMBER CALVER
The chairs are colder than they look
I chose the one with less to say
A magazine from last October
Keeps the present world away
There’s a clock that isn’t ticking
But I feel it all the same
Like time is clearing its throat
Before it says my name
I cross my legs, then uncross them
Like posture still applies
I wonder if my face looks normal
From the outside
Someone coughs down the hallway
The door clicks once, then stays
I memorise the sound of it
In case I need to pray
Every breath feels borrowed
Every thought feels new
I sit here being careful
In the waiting room
I think about the way you smiled
When I said I’d be alright
Like it was something we agreed on
Just to get us through the night
I practice saying nothing
In a voice that doesn’t shake
I tell myself it’s only words
Whatever shape they take
I don’t ask for mercy
I don’t ask for proof
I just sit with all the versions
Of what could be true
If love is just attention
Then I’ve done my part
I keep my hands real steady
Over my heart
The receptionist looks up at me
Then back down at the page
Like I’m already a paragraph
She knows how to phrase
She says “They’re ready for you now”
Like readiness is fair
I stand up from who I was
In the waiting room chair
There’s a version of this moment
Where nothing changes shape
Where I walk back out untouched
And call it just a day
But that version’s getting quieter
The closer that I move
Toward the door that separates
The after from the before
So whatever they decide is true
However it’s explained
I’ll walk in like I’m listening
Like I’ve learned my name
If this room has taught me anything
It’s how to stay composed
I open up the door myself
And let the silence close
The clock forgives the waiting
The hallway knows my name
I leave the room behind me
I will never be the same
ON ITUNES & SPOTIFY