By Eve Hinson, QuirkyBirdWords.com & #TheReal5150
I stand here barefoot on carpet,
the fiber of comfort and home pressed into my soles.
The Quiet, stands with me.
We watch branches and leaves swing through a wet window.
The Quiet doesn’t echo the cacophony in my mind.
Instead it’s a friend and wraps me in a swathe of emptiness
like a blanket.
It provides comfort in fear,
and its silence feels like a threadbare and button-eyed love
hugged fierce in the dark.
It comforts more than honeyed chamomile
and says absolutely nothing when I need it the most.
The Quiet is never jealous when I return home.
It doesn’t chide that I stink of Chaos
and then shame me for where I’ve been.
solitude is always offered
and I’m reminded this is where I belong.
No matter what, I can always be here
and seek peace from the…
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