Quietude

Quietude

She leaves her room sometimes,
with one solid click of the door
on her heels.
Sometimes her hair is down,
and when she enters rooms
there is a line of
smeared black eye liner
trailing along,
following her.

She’s not used to the weather here,
and doesn’t expect to call this place home,
instead it is a transition
or a temporary hide-away
until she finds her soul,
which she lost a while ago
in the dark.

Still the dark
is a cocoon to her;
she wraps herself in the lack of light,
keeping the blinds shut.
She huddles close to the faux light
coming from the screen of her monitor,
and searches in the darkness
for the life she once lived in.

“I’m one of them,”
she thinks of the people
and faces flashing across the screen.
It is a belonging to her,
something I’m always intrigued in.
And it is in this belonging
that she sees her sense of family,
even though they are far away,
separated by the miles and miles of trees
between them.

Something I, in the closeness
of my own home,
haven’t found yet