Facing the white wall
Dawn has arrived— I face the white wall, seeking myself. I sit, eyes closed, and search, yet find no trace. Through the window, I gaze — the world unfolds, vivid, vast, but I am not there. Rummaging through old laundry, I linger myself between waste and worth, tangled in what was and what remains. In the chatter of friends, laughter like scattered light, I listen — but my name dissolves in the air. Among my possessions, I count the days, forty five years cycle of the moon, of wounds wept in silence. Again, the white wall — clearer now. Again, my closed eyes — brighter in the dark. And then I see — there is no self to be found, no self meant to be held. Dawn has arrived, but this time, I will not search anymore. Freedom is here.
