Sparse yet full.
Creaking branches.
My cat meowing.

Pencil in hand.
Yet am I really here?
Where am I?

People don’t know me well.
I’m an isolate.
Yet they are still me,
As much as I am them.

Words have power.
Distant focus, open freedom, space.
I am.

A window into my mind only shows a small piece,
Yet the window out has room for all.

Make up your own rules,
Play your own game.
Am I an automaton?
I think not.

But why have an opinion?
Isn’t it all the same?

From the distance it is hard to see the subtleties,
But they are still there.

Waiting, for you to return to yourself.

Photo by Patrick on Unsplash