The Crosswalk at Dusk

86 words · under a minute

He stood at the crosswalk

watching the light change

three times.

Each cycle, pedestrians

passed him in clusters —

brief warmth, then gone.

He wasn't waiting for

anyone. He just needed

the world to keep moving

around him while he

figured out if he still

knew how to move with

it.

The fourth green light,

he stepped forward. One

foot, then the other.

Not because he had a

destination. Because

standing still had started

to feel like a decision

he was no longer allowed

to make.

pressure · lost · evening · street · healing

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