There was a knock.
No sound after.
I did not get up.

The coffee was cold,
but I drank it
as if it meant something.

Someone passed by,
perhaps the postman,
perhaps God.

The newspaper was yesterday’s.
No news I recognized.
No picture I had ever seen.

I waited.
Not for anything in particular.
Just for what remains
when nothing else arrives.

The chair across from me stayed empty.
For weeks.
Maybe years.

Still, I spoke.
Not out of hope.
Just out of habit.

There was a knock again.
Not loud.
More like a memory.

“Who are you?”
— Silence.

“Why come now?”
— A hesitation, a pulse.

“Are you the answer?”
— A quiet yes,
that only formed inside me.

Maybe you’re already here,
and I never understood
how to hear you.

Then, only silence.

I opened the door softly,
ready to die.

But beyond it —
nothing.

I stood there for a while,
hand firm on the handle.
Listening into the silence,
nothing.

Maybe that was it.
No ending, no beginning.

I closed the door.

And yet, something had gone.
Perhaps the fear,
perhaps God himself.