Alone, but not adrift—this space is mine,

An open canvas brushed by my own hand.

No whispers nudge the quiet of my thoughts,

No restless voice to pull my focus thin.

The morning light spills softly through my walls,

And I, unhurried, greet the day I choose.

My steps are mine, as steady or as still,

Each hour unfolds like paper, clean and white.

Here silence sings, a friend, not hollowed sound,

A rhythm shaped to fit my measured life.

To linger in a movie until the dark,

Or wander aimless paths the sun ignites.

No need to trade the midnight for a “must,”

No constant mirror held to my own shape.

The growth is quiet here, the roots unseen,

Stretching deep where no gaze can measure worth.

I build myself in rooms both known and new,

No compromise to cloud the edges bright.

The company of self, a gift unwrapped,

And peace, that rare companion, stays the night.

For here I walk the world with endless time,

To love, to dream, to wander unconfined.

And though a pair may shine with borrowed light,

This solitude, it holds its golden fire.