Solitude

On a languid day, 
when time stretches thin,
I seek solace in the quietude of my room. 

The ticking clock becomes a heartbeat, 
counting moments like rosary beads. 
The old chair, worn and sagging, 
cradles me, its arms enfolding like a lover.

The sun, a lazy wanderer, 
spills its golden ink across the floor, 
tracing forgotten paths.

Outside, the world hums a distant tune, 
but here, I am cocooned in stillness. 
My breath dances with dust motes, 
and the air tastes of memories and longing.

In this solitude, I find my peace.