26/03/2026
He comes every morning.
Tap… tap… tap…
On the glass.
On the wooden walls.
On the silence we built over what once belonged to the wild.
There are trees everywhere, yet he chooses this spot again and again.
Maybe he isn’t lost.
Maybe he remembers.
Maybe long before this became a homestay for human escape, it was already a home — his home.
And like so many innocent creatures, he never learned the language of ownership, boundaries, or construction.
He only came back to where life once felt familiar.
And somehow, that hurts more than the sound of his knocking ever could.
