The Girl Who Never Played Outside

The Girl Who Never Played Outside

She stood beside the quiet doorway,

Watching dust rise from running feet.

Children chased the wide afternoon,

Their laughter lifting into open air.

Her small hands held the wooden frame.

Beyond the step stretched a restless world,

Bright with careless, spinning days.

But her feet stayed inside the shadow,

As though the ground itself whispered no.

The doorway became her horizon.

From the window she studied seasons,

Branches bending with unseen birds.

Rain tapped gently on empty pavement,

Snow traced paths she never followed.

Spring bloomed without her footsteps.

Inside the rooms the hours deepened,

Clocks breathing through patient silence.

Her thoughts wandered far beyond walls,

Travelling fields she never crossed.

Imagination opened quiet landscapes.

Sometimes a bird rested near the window,

Tilting its small curious head.

She would watch its fragile stillness,

Wondering how the sky felt above it.

Then it would vanish into open space.

Years gathered softly around that doorway,

Yet the world stayed both close and distant.

And the girl who never played outside

Carried thousands of untaken journeys.

Whole worlds lived quietly in her mind.

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