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.