Solace in strings

The city teaches her how to live with noise—
not just the kind outside the window,
but the quieter kind that asks her to keep moving,
to be visible, to be more.

Some evenings, she chooses softness instead.

A guitar waits in the corner of the room.
The lamp is low.
Streetlight slips through thin curtains.
A cup cools on the table.
A cat curls nearby, already at rest.

She doesn’t play to be heard.
There is no audience here, no need to impress.
Mistakes are allowed.
Pauses are welcome.

When she plays, time loosens.
Breath finds its rhythm.
Each chord holds what the day could not.

In a world that asks women to be polished and pleasing,
creating something only for herself
is quietly brave.

The solace isn’t in sounding good.
It’s in staying.

And when she plays for herself,
she steps out of the city
and gently,
back into herself.