When I was ten, I moved to my own room.

Tiny, but swaddled warm by walls of cream.

And from the east, the morning light consumed

What gloom might last of ling’ring night, now dreams.

With colors bright, a view (but not too much)

Of a new world. Daily on window’s sill

I perched to watch the trees the breeze would touch.

The birds flew by; my heart would lose its chill.

But not too long ago, the view grew pale.

I longed for warmth my view had ceased to provide,

The breeze was still, the air turned stagnant, stale. 

My room, once small and warm, now cold inside.

This confinement will soon shrivel my soul,

A wider view, the world is now my goal.

Photo Credit: Angelina Risnoveanu

Written by


Angelina Risnoveanu, senior, is a diehard fan of dramatic novels, Denis Villeneuve movies, and existential physics. You may find her roaming through the OLu halls listening to Radiohead, panicking over Physics C, or jabbering about Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn—though it may be difficult to tell.