Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

You ask me why I stay,  
why these streets hold my steps,  
why my days fold together  
like waves that never rush, never roar.  

You wonder how I breathe this stillness,  
wake to mornings that echo themselves,  
find joy in things so small  
they slip through your grasp unnoticed.  

But you don’t see it—do you?  
You don’t feel the hum beneath the quiet,  
the grace that waits in the mundane,  
patient as the earth turning underfoot.  

I wake to sunlight spilling gold on my floor,  
to the kettle’s low murmur,  
to the scent of rain-soaked soil.  
I knead bread and watch it rise,  
life warm beneath my hands.  

At dusk, shadows stretch and soften;  
the day exhales its last light.  
These are not small things—  
these are not insignificant threads.  

You call them nothing because you’ve never stopped—  
never paused long enough to see.  
The world isn’t built on fireworks or grandeur;  
it is held together by moments unnamed,  
fragile as breath but stronger than stone.  

You chase stars that burn too fast;  
I gather fireflies that linger and flicker,  
their glow soft but steady in my palms.  
You call my life boring—boring!—  
but what do you know of fullness?  

I don’t need mountains to climb,  
or a crowd to cheer my name.  
The steady rhythm of time is enough—  
the ache of work well done,  
the sound of laughter falling like oak leaves.

One day, the world will forget,  
my name turned to a mere whisper.
Even so, I’ll still be here,
tending my garden, listening to the cicadas' cries.

So ask me again why I stay.  
This isn’t settling, or merely existing.
It is living.

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