A Room to Return To

In the quiet hum of a life well-spun,

A sudden chill, a truth begun:

We built their worlds, a careful grace,

But found no lasting, central place.

Not anchor, not the vital thread,

Just air around where others led.

We poured our light, a steady stream,

Believed we lived within their dream.

We loved until our bones grew thin,

Let every joy and sorrow in.

Then came a whisper, soft and sly:

"What did your presence signify?"

And all we gave, a silent plea,

Became a phantom memory.

They bloomed within the space we made,

A garden where our own dreams frayed.

Their laughter danced on our hushed pain,

Their victories, our silent rain.

We wondered once, with bated breath,

How they'd endure our final death.

They answered with their easy stride,

Like water closing, where we'd tried.

Where is the room, unlocked and wide,

Where just our presence is our guide?

The tea poured out, no reason found,

The reaching hand, on sacred ground?

She built her walls, a loving quest,

And watched her own safe havens rest,

Unseen, unheard, the open door,

That welcomed without asking more.

Even the ancient, land and gold,

A story centuries old,

Paused at the question, stark and clear:

"Where would you go from standing here?"

Beyond her gate, the world unknown,

A boundless space, no cage was shown.

So now we learn, a different way,

To find our sun, our inner day.

No need to bleed, for sight, for proof,

No plea to stand beneath their roof.

We breathe, we are, we always were,

A quiet hum, a gentle stir.

And from this truth, so deeply sown,

A new beginning, all our own.