Not even touch it

You know, it’s become completely quiet in my refuge.
No sounds. No people. No time.
Only me — and my despair.

Sunlight slips through the curtains — warm and gentle,
as if whispering: “There is life out there,
but it is not yours to touch.”

Like a glass curtain between us — transparent, unbreakable.

No prison is frightening . when there is no foreign happiness within it.
The real punishment . is seeing how life could have been —
but not with you.

Not because you are bad,
or wrong,
but because chance has woven
the pattern of your fate
into a knot of helplessness —
a knot you cannot undo.

And the more you struggle,
the tighter it pulls around your neck,
like a noose.

No one will see.
No one will enter.

I will sit among these glass walls
and accept it all, hopelessly,
just as it is.

Life will pass quietly —
just beside me.
And I will not even touch it.