I looked outside, the sun is shining where it hasn't for days.
I looked inside, it's been caliginous for months.
The smoke over my tea seems foreign,
My gazes are empty,
My flesh feels hardened.
My thoughts don't haunt me anymore,
we live together, a familiar routine.
It's an odd place to be in,
when you're acquiescent for Departure,
but wary of the destination.
Death will grace us all in a given day,
how to act as a catalyst,
I wondered,
simply, keep your door inviting.
As I sat with a blizzard inside,
a deep sunken calm emerged within.
I asked, "who is it?"
"your solace", it answered.
I asked again, confused, "who is it?"
"your tranquil", it answered.
I asked once again, unsure, "who is it?"
"your Departure", it answered. I smiled.
"What kept you so long?", I asked,
"you have. May I stay?", it asked me.
"You've never left. A perpetual guest is always welcome." I answered.
The sound of violins overcame me,
an odd, fitting melody.