One Room, Nowhere

 I used to have a room with corners

that remembered me.

Walls that heldthe warmth of names,

a window where the sun arrived gently-

like it knew me.

Now,

the sky is my ceiling,wide, careless,

never the same twice.

The pavement does not keep memories-

only footsteps that forget me as soon as they pass.

I build my “room” out of shadows at night,

a doorway from cardboard and hope,

a roof from borrowed sleep.

People walk by like closed doors.

Their eyes-

windows that never open.

But still, in the quiet between noises,

I gather small things:

a kind glance,

a half-smile,

the warmth of tea held too long in my hands.

And somehow,

in this endless nowhere,

I carry a room inside me fragile, invisible,

but mine.

Not made of walls,but of what I refuse to lose.

 

"Though walls may fade and corners blur,  

the heart's own room remains pure, sure,  

crafted not of stone or wood, but grace- 

an everlasting, sacred place."