The Last First Thing

I’ve carried this untouched part of me
the way some people carry a keepsake
not hidden, just… held.
A small, unbroken thing
in a world that rushes to shatter itself
for the sake of saying it lived.

Some days it feels like a secret.
Other days, it feels like a choice.
Most days, it’s simply a fact—
like the way my heartbeat stumbles
When I’m nervous,
Or how I talk too softly
when something matters.

I’m not waiting for perfection.
I’m not guarding a gate.
I’m just moving through my life
at the speed that feels like mine.

And maybe one day
Someone will meet me there
not to take anything,
but to stand beside me
as I decide what comes next.

Until then,
I’m whole.
Not missing anything.
Just living with the last first thing
I haven’t given away.