My place. My home. My heart.
A place full. A place of me. My place.
I swing across wire mesh, try to find contentment in golden rays of sun.
I watch the flow of movement, watch the eyes of those outside.
They shuffle by, some laugh, or grumble, or yell. Some pay no attention at all.
Why am I here? What is my purpose?
I quit speaking with the others long ago.
There is nothing to say.
We live in rhythm, predictable.
Nothing is new, nothing novel.
I’ve lost track of days, of memory of anything other than here.
Food comes, I eat. Dark descends, I sleep.
It’s safe here, and that feels good.
What more could I need?
This is my place. This is my sanctuary.
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