The street light blinks like you can't decide
Yellow pool and on a cracked sidewalk
A folded receipt lives in my jacket pocket
Numbers fading faster than the reason I kept it
A stranger has changed to someone on the corner
Doesn't wait for a thank you
I watch the moment leave their hands like it never needed an audience
I've been carrying questions like
small sharp keys hoping one of them fit
Is there a moral I'm supposed to follow?
Or just a quieter way to stay kind?
I keep choosing between what feels
easy and what lets me sleep at night
It isn't about being right,
it's about what my body believes
When nobody's watching
The train window turns my face into
glass Overlapping with passing signs
Two
voices argue low behind me Both convince they're standing on truth
I used to borrow certainty from louder
people Let their confidence dress my doubt
Now I hold my breath before answering
Like I'm learning with my own line
Sounds like some decisions only make sense after the room goes quiet
Is there a moral I'm supposed to carry?
Or just a softer way to choose?
I've learned how heavy winning feels
when it's not honest with the truth
It isn't about looking good,
it's about what I can live with after
After you
Thought values lived in perfect statements
Clean lines I could defend
But they show up when nobody's counting
In the pause before I bend
No stage,
no clean reaction No record of what I decide
Just me and the shape of the night
on my side
Is there a moral I'm still becoming?
Or is becoming the whole design?
I don't need every answer polished
I just need one that feels like mine
It isn't about the story I tell It's about the one I quietly let
I
drop the receipt
in the bin
Keep the small change in my head and walk home lighter
Than I planned