Standing on the Worn Doorstep of My Childhood Home as My Mother Returns After Years of Silence, Seeking Something I Cannot Name

I look away, unable to meet her gaze any longer.

The sun continues its descent, the shadows growing longer and deeper around us.

The world feels smaller, like it’s closing in.

I take a step back, feeling the roughness of the door frame against my fingertips.

It’s a comfort, in a way.

Something solid to hold onto.

“It’s not that simple,” I finally say, my voice steady now.

She nods, as if she understands.

But I doubt she truly does.

Understanding requires more than just being here.