Trapped in metric space,
Bound by what the eyes can see,
No hidden paths to trace,
No broken walls to set you free.
You glimpse what you can,
But miss what is true.
The cosmos conspired,
To an equilibrium closer to you.
It was my gift to hold,
My gift to lose.
The pathways carved it so,
Yet still, my path to choose.
If hugs were ours at will,
We’d never face the fall.
But in the realm of truth,
There are no gaps at all.
They were waiting, clear to see,
I could have held them, had I chose.
But the pathways thinned to silence,
And the moment’s passage closed.
We might seem worlds apart,
As if our time’s not yet come.
Yet truth is plain to see—
It’s only clocks that make time run.
A birthday gift is never owned,
It passes through, yet makes us known.
For in the silence, truth is clear—
Every gift is simply here.
