This is where I take my shoes off, and I put my feet up, after a long day. There's a french window, a percolator and a basket full of discarded manuscripts, full of broken dreams.
There is a door with no lock, always open to you, to enter and leave at your desire, and not mine.
There's a noticeboard, with pieces of my heart pinned on it.
There's the little bread left after I marked a trail in the forest for a friend.
And there's me.
In all my defiled glory, just me.
I invite you to come, sit, make yourself as comfortable as you can.
Just don't complain that you don't like it here, when nobody stops you from leaving.
Not even me, though my fondest wish is to see your face again.
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