I dream of solitude,
A satisfying loneliness of vast magnitude.
Of a hidden apartment in an unnamed city
And a beautiful black cat there with me.
And she purrs at my arrival home,
Leaps into my arms as I lay on the couch alone.
And a silent old neighborhood,
Peaceful and full of brotherhood.
A workplace nearby keeping me busy,
And coffee shops to drown in when work gets me drowsy.
Book shops and library memberships,
And shelves full of journals that speak of hardships.
And music system in the living room, blasting,
As I prepare breakfast in the morning, singing and dancing.
And my passport as it lays constantly on the coffee table,
From whenever I come back home from another trip of travel.
Polaroid pictures hung in my bedroom above the study table,
Of venture and adventures of a whole different level.
And bottles of champaign high up on top of kitchen cabinets,
The bringings of some friends, unaware of my unwilling habits.
And a car almost broken down,
And yet never letting me down.
And the television set always showing live football matches,
And me and my laptop on the couch vaguely listening to commentary snatches.
And dark and solitary evenings with dinner only for two,
Me and my cat alone and a few memories too.
And the best most beautiful nights, alone,
Of me and my dreams and my memories and ghosts.