There’s an address nobody dares visit.
No doorbell, no flowers,
just a silence so heavy it buckles the windows.
To feel is a risk.
To explain is a gamble.
But the outcome never changes
the world stays distant,
smiling like it didn’t hear the scream.
And so it loops.
Again.
And again.
Like a broken porch light flickering in an endless dusk.
Inside, they wait
not for rescue,
but for recognition.
A neighbor, a shadow,
anything that says:
\"You are not invisible.\"
They yearn for a knock.
Instead: a broken window.
Proof that someone looked in,
but no one dared stay.
Sometimes a shape stands outside.
Not stranger. Not friend.
Something familiar—
like a reflection caught in the wrong time.
It could be them.
It could be their past.
But they keep the door locked.
Even from themselves.
Still, they wish for change.
For the world to treat them as new,
as worthy,
as seen.
But the house?
It stays the same.
Paint chipped.
Curtains drawn.
Soul closed.
A place not unloved—
just…
unvisited.