For certain, there is a joy in being known
In being gregarious and being out there
But there is also an indefinable glee in hiding in your own den
In finding tranquility in the thunder of your thoughts
In being anonymous to the idea of restless activity
And in being lost in the standstill of time.
Into a space where there is nothing burdening your shoulders nor anything that is lending a hand.
Like that beautiful waterfall that is crossing its fingers to remain camouflaged from the idea of being discovered
Like that corner in your room that you don’t ever want to clean up lest it loses its charm
Like that crumbled piece of paper that doesn’t make sense but you just don’t seem to get rid of it
It’s like that music you have heard a zillion times but you choose it over the trending one
It’s like a mood to turn away from anything that seems to disturb the solace that you have binged upon
For it seems wiser to stay masked and make meaning of the little things that make you smile
To neither jump nor step back in the vitality of factual lies
To choose for a space that doesn’t jeopardize the comfort of the undisturbed bubble
And maybe revive like the sunshine in a hurricane that is brave, contented and stubborn…
