The room is dark.
Muted walls brings no color into it,
And the black ceiling resembles the night sky after a rainfall.
There is no sign of movement and only the consecutive sound of my breathing can be heard throughout.

Everything is slow, unmoving, and silent.

It’s quiet.
Weary, yet there is a sense of hope.
The open windows allow the breeze to enter,
And the colorless curtains dance with the gentle wind.
Looking out the windows, the fog covers up any signs of movement
Crickets fill the silence with an inaudible hum.
The sun begins to rise and rays of orange and yellow seep into the room,
And the room lights up slowly in a warm tone.

Little bit of light, lots of hope.

The cricket hums has been replaced by singsong melodies of the birds,
The fog has lifted, uncovering the light colors of the outside world.
The room fills with the smell of vanilla and green tea,
And the white sheets of the bed are made swiftly.
Not a single object is out of place; even the books stacked in the corner remain perfectly lined up.
Disturbances can be heard from downstairs,
The voices of my family gradually become louder and louder.
The strong smell of caffeine that my father drinks every start of the day,
It climbs into the room and breaks up the serene vibe of this early morning.

Filled with life … and coffee.

The door opens and unveils the rest of the world.
People move in and out, rustling and hustling,
And some stop by for a friendly chat on my bed.
The sun flashes brightly into the room and the lamps become useless,
For nature is the best source of energy.
Oh Wonder plays loudly so that even the neighbors could hear,
The sweet aroma of strawberries and apples consume the house.

Everything is faster, moving, and filled with laughter and voices.

The closet door slides open behind the door.
Moments later, it closes.
I grab my tennis bag and shoes and leave the room.
The room has all of the sudden become lonely.

Alone.

The door stays open, but there is no sign of life near by
As if no one was invited
Even though the ajar door is an obvious indicator of an invitation.
The textbook that piled onto my black desk remain untouched and cluttered,
And my school backpack and notebooks stay scattered on the floor.
The room is lonely like the seas or the single flower in a vast forest.
It’s as if somebody had stopped the time because the silence is almost too eerie.
No one has entered the room, and when I do,
There is a new, yet familiar face with me.

One exits two enter.

The floor becomes covered with scattered clothes and bags,
And the room is suddenly full with joy and happiness.
Two friends. Talking their night away.
The brightness that the sun emitted once before is no longer prominent,
And outside the window, the immense star begins to hide itself behind the clouds.
Sitting on the bed propped in the corner, I drink tea as my friend enjoys her hot chocolate.
As the night progresses, my friend drives home,
And despite the darkness, there is happiness.

Laughter lingers in the air, but now the room only has one company.

The outside world has turned orange from blue,
The house is silent,
And the room is longer its immaculate self.
The room is beyond messy, but it holds the memories of today.
However, good vibes and all, the good day have gone by too fast.
The strings on the guitar are strummed and the smell of vanilla fills the room again.
In the end, the night sky devours the room.
The collages on the wall by the windows are no longer visible,
And the sun has gone to sleep as well as the outside world.

The room is dark once more.
Happy Sunday.