House of Serenity

Tonight, the walls are quiet.

They know before I speak

that I have come to say goodbye.

 

This house has held my laughter,

my grief folded into pillows,

my prayers whispered into empty rooms,

my victories celebrated in silence,

my tears absorbed by floors

that never once judged where they fell.

Here, I have learned

that loneliness is not always emptiness.

Sometimes it is simply the sound

of my own soul returning home.

Soon, I will close this door

without knowing which one

I will open next.

There is no map waiting for me.

No promise of certainty.

Only the wide horizon

stretching beyond everything familiar.

 

Once, that would have frightened me.

Once, I searched for safety

in places,

in people,

in plans carefully drawn.

 

But life, in its not so gentle wisdom,

has taught me otherwise.

It has stripped away illusions

until only truth remained.

And the truth is this:

 

I can trust myself now.

 

I know the language of my own heart.

I recognise the quiet voice of my soul

even when the world grows loud.

I have become familiar

with the woman I once spent years searching for.

 

So perhaps I am not leaving

my house of serenity at all.

Perhaps I have been building it

within me all along.

 

Brick by brick,

breath by breath,

choice by choice,

I have built a refuge

that no moving box can contain,

no distance can diminish,

no uncertainty can steal.

 

The road ahead is unwritten,

and I no longer ask it

to reveal every chapter.

Hope walks beside me now,

not because I know where I am going,

but because I know

who is making the journey.

 

And that is enough.

 

As I lock this door one final time,

I do not leave myself behind.

I take my peace.

My courage.

My memories.

My faith.

My lessons.

 

For the house I sought

was never made of stone or timber.

It was always waiting

inside the quiet place

where I finally learned

to listen and hear.

Once, I needed to travel away

to lose and find myself,

to search,

to question,

to become.

 

Now, I walk the long road back home,

not to the place I once left,

but to the truest version of myself.

With steadier hands,

a quieter mind,

and a stronger sense of who I am,

I know that wherever life may lead me,

I will be my own home.

 

Author (poem and image): Vilyana Tsekova