compact folio
I left with a suitcase and a mind full of bright roads,
chasing books, lectures,
and the future everyone said was waiting for me.
The year turned,
and the festival’s colors called me back—
the smell of sweets,
the sound of laughter
I had stored like treasures in my chest.
But when I stepped inside,
the air felt heavier,
thicker with words I didn’t know anymore.
Conversations moved without me,
their threads too fine to catch.
Every sentence was a stranger,
every shared joke a door
I had no key for.
My chair at the table still stood where it always had,
but when I sat,
it felt smaller,
as if the walls had leaned in,
watching me as an outsider.
I smiled when they spoke,
nodded in the right places,
but my heart pressed against invisible glass.
I could see them,
hear them,
yet could not step into their warmth.
The same place I once called home
now pressed on my ribs,
a beautiful cage made of memories.
And though my parents’ eyes still held love,
though every room knew my footsteps,
I realized—
home had moved on without me.
marble hamlet
pure juniper
tacit tapir