reading room
The Quietest Company
I speak in chords no one showed me— thoughts that spiral inward, where silence wears silk, and rhythm alone is enough.
Friends say they hate being alone. They patch their days like leaky boats— afloat in noise and plans. But I've found a different fullness— solo walks, writing poems the world may never see— the quiet echo of my own mind returning home.
Some night—I ask myself the kinds of questions people save for lovers. The answers aren't always kind— but they are mine, and I return with something like trust.
I've been in love, and I've been alone— and neither one was emptier than the other.
The trees are not lonely— nor am I. The moon and I blink in sync, and sometimes the rain finishes my sentences.
To walk alone is not to wander. It is to hum with the wind, to dance with patterns that have no names— but feel like truth.
I'm not waiting to be completed. I am audience and orchestra— composer and instrument— playing the chords no one showed me. And in the quietest company, I know myself—by heart.
A fox once crossed the road ahead, each step a brushstroke— as if the air itself was conducting.
— Lilith