Mirrors

The Blank Room of Margins

My room is my home.

It may not always be neat and organized exactly like I want it,

yet it never seems to lose its comfort.

In my room, I can sprawl across my bed,

reading my favorite books,

playing my favorite games,

and watching my favorite shows.

I can open the window, and feel the wind's light breeze drift in.

I can feel both the natural sunlight and the artificial light that grants light even in the dark.

If I open my window at night, I can watch the beautiful stars, vigilant, observing the world of night.

But if the door were to open,

eyes can peek and hands can snatch,

taking away the world of dreams, where I can display what no one else should see.

The place I can imagine, without consciousness of the crawling of time.

For all those eyes,

all those unnerving eyes

can never see without a word,

can never explore something new without disturbing it,

stomping and poking it with sticks.

So I would much rather close the door,

only allowing the friendly shadows and friendly ghosts to enter,

and only when I please.

Because if they don't follow the simple rules,

they might fade away, never to return.

So far, I haven't met a single one with whom all my secrets I'm willing to share.

And so, my entire room,

my entire home,

a secret remains,

to all eyes and all minds,

all

but my own.