That place you took me to as a child.

The palace of vertigo.

The city reduced to something small, almost manageable.

I held the railing, unsure of the height.

You stood beside me. Close, but never enough to touch.

I thought it was fear of falling.

I go back there now.

Nothing has changed, except the direction of the vertigo.

It no longer comes from above.

You are still there. Not in form, but in presence.

In what was never said.

Love did not arrive.

It stayed. Quietly.

Undeclared.

Unresolved.

Simply there.