I have always dreamt
at least since a very long time
of a cute little house just for myself,
To paint the walls with stories written in the form of pictures,
Of furniture that fits my tiny size,
With windows where I can sit alone,
Listening to music or reading a book;
A house to myself, in which perhaps one day I can roam around naked.
You all have gone for some work
This house, right now, is mine
Yet I sit here fully clothed
Not near a window, but tied to my room
Because I have no one to tell my stories to
And I can’t inform anyone of the sudden realization I had-
I hate empty houses.