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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I call my mind a palace the way people call storms “weather,” Like a softer word might keep it from doing so much damage. If I say palace, I get chandeliers instead of bars, vaulted ceilings instead of a sentence that lasts my whole life. It’s cold here. Not dramatically-not the kind of cold that makes one beg for rescue. Just the kind that settles in and never leaves. Visitors underestimate it. They always do. They step inside glowing, certain that warmth is contagious, and leave rubbing their arms like the air betrayed them. I don’t chase those who leave. I’ve learned that running only feeds the echo. The floors remember every footstep, the walls replay every doubt, and the silence has a way of sounding like judgment if you listen too long. I tell myself it’s not a prison, because prisons don’t bother with beauty. They don’t polish marble or let light collect on staircases like it’s thinking about staying. They don’t give you rooms you can get lost in without ever technically leaving. Still, I know the truth of it— that there’s no exit sign that actually means escape. That this is where I will live my whole life, learning which doors stick, which thoughts frost over by morning, and which halls are too dark to go through, lest I never come out. —— There is a garden. It’s not obvious. You wouldn’t stumble into it by accident. You have to want quiet more than answers, have to stop trying to prove you’re survivable. The air changes there— not warmer, just kinder, softer. Snapdragons crowd the paths, petals stacked like careful defenses, Bright enough to distract from whatever shape hides beneath. Dahlia grows wrapped in on herself, leaf over leaf, as if tenderness is something you earn access to slowly. No one really knows what those flowers look like unguarded, and no one demands to. In the garden, I don’t have to translate myself. I don’t apologize for the cold or promise it will pass. I just exist the way protected things do— intact, unreachable, alive. Maybe that’s why I stay. Not because the palace is kind, But because it learned how to make room for something soft. Because even frozen places can grow things that know how to endure. I don’t need to love it here. I just need one place that doesn’t ask me to leave myself behind. One garden that understands why so many petals might be necessary,
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