The more time spent alone
the more I find it intoxicating
The sound of steady breathing
the pages of a tattered novel slowly turning
my chair creaking to my shifting weight
as I foolishly try to get comfortable
on a brisk afternoon
When all is not as hectic as before
and my only concern
is my tea over cooling
before the chapter ends
When the whole world lies in my room
my book
my mug and chair
and the rest is tucked away
for a little while longer