“I’M GLAD TO MEET YOU.”

“I’m glad to meet you,”
I said.
Like a line rehearsed.
Like a coat worn for warmth, not for meaning.

The words had no weight.
No welcome.
Just syllables sent to survive small talk.

But what does glad even mean
if it doesn’t reach the eyes?
if it doesn’t soften the shoulders?
if it doesn’t stay once the silence comes?

Maybe it’s not a lie.
Just a language we’ve outgrown.
A hand-me-down greeting
we never stopped to question.

Somewhere,
“I’m glad to meet you”
meant something.
A spark,
a stir,
a soft landing.

But today,
we throw it around
like spare change
at strangers.

Glad.
To meet.
You.

Who is glad?
Who is you?
What even is meeting
if we only show the parts
we’ve photoshopped for approval?

I think of all the people
I’ve said it to—
teachers, colleagues, friends of friends.
And all the ones
I wasn’t really glad to meet.
Just expected to.

Now I wonder:
What if we only said it
when we meant it?
What if we waited
till our voice cracked with honesty?

I don’t want to perform.
I want to be present.

So the next time I say,
“I’m glad to meet you,”
Know this:
I stayed up thinking about it.
I chose the words
like a gift.
And I meant every
tired, tender,
truthful
letter.

While you’re here, do check out my other poems here!