BY A BOY WHO CHOSE SOLITUDE
I never craved penthouses kissing the clouds,
nor mansions where silence feels cold.
I worked through storms,
not to rise above the world—
but to step away from its roar.
All I ever wanted
was a wooden hut in the hills—
where rivers laugh like children,
where the wind hums forgotten songs,
where rain feels like the sky washing off
what hurt the most.
The sun…
a father’s hand on my shoulder.
The moon…
a mother watching over dreams.
In cities, I wandered,
craving their lights,
but never their noise.
I loved them—
the quiet ones, the old ones,
where people moved like whispers.
But even there,
I couldn’t find the silence
that lets you hear yourself think.
So I built it—
in my mind first,
then in the earth beneath my feet.
Why?
Because I needed a place
where my voice echoes back to my ears,
so I know I still exist.
So I know I still feel.
I am tired of competition.
Of proving.
Of performing.
I want a life like a straight line—
not because it's boring,
but because it's honest.
And love?
I stopped chasing it.
Because no one holds hearts like I do.
And mine—
it’s not made for games.
It's fragile.
Like sunlight on still water.
It breaks quietly.
So I gave it back to the only hands
that never dropped it—
my own.
In solitude,
I found my teacher.
My shelter.
My self.
Now I know what I want.
Now I know who I am.
And when I sit, alone, under the rain,
I don’t feel empty—
I feel home.
It's a poem about my desires, my dream...
