Look — I made the bed this morning,
cooked something warm, opened the windows wide.
The rooms are small and hold us close,
but somehow there is space inside.

Your cup still waits beside the sink,
the quiet moves the way you do.
Come by whenever you want —
this place has learned the shape of you.

The walls are narrow, yes, and blind,
yet evenings soften what they hold.
The door’s unlocked in your suffering mind;
a part of this home is already yours.