It was a place to feel alone,
even if cacophonous and crowded.
Even if the couch were bowing in the middle,
and lively jungle on the wall started
to fray and to peel at the edge.
It was a place to feel alone,
even amid the comfort of comrades.
Even if card games are being cheered on like
lives depends on the outcome of children's
play... and sounds of paper against paper.
It was a place to feel alone,
even if currents be caught by the shuffling.
Even if by lines of people, the air was shifted and
the stale taste of stagnancy was changed
or that old-book-smell displaced.
It was a place to feel alone,
Even if in chair and companionship.
Even if a best friend lays their legs on yours
and you forget to feel uncomfortable
while quite this content.
It was a place to feel alone,
even because you kind of weren't.
Even because the memories fail you, and
your reliability fails you despite facts.
And you had a happy childhood,
—Even If You Can't Convince Yourself Of It,
by Zackery D. Fitz
YOU ARE READING
Heuristic
PoetryA poetry collection. heu·ris·tic /hyo͞oˈristik/ adjective enabling a person to discover or learn something for themselves. "a "hands-on" or interactive heuristic approach to learning" noun a heuristic process or method.
