I wandered too long,
a stranger in my own life,
watching laughter through glass,
close enough to see, too far to touch.
I lived at the edge of things,
where streets stretched into silence,
where each step away felt like exile,
where the night ended not in sleep,
but in the long breath before loneliness.
It was waiting—always waiting—
for the thaw, for the bus
for the distance to shrink between myself and the life
that was unfolding without me.
It was missing out,
a shadow at the door,
a name forgotten when the next round poured.
I thought I’d always be waiting—
a demon waiting for the sun,
a shadow longing for substance—
But then, I found you.
No more roads to cross,
no more wind carving through my ribs,
no more slipping out before the story’s final line.
You—your golden glow,
your river’s hush, your open doors.
You, where laughter lives close,
where my friends are not echoes,
but voices in the room.
No more waiting, no more watching
as life unfolded from too many blocks away.
You pulled me back—
to laughter within reach,
to footsteps that end at home,
to a world I no longer watch from the window.
And when I leave,
you will linger—
not as a memory,
but as a pulse
beneath my skin,
a warmth dispelling shadows.
Luke Wagner ’26 (lukewagner@college.harvard.edu) is the Vice President of the Independent.