The Writer's Solace - part 1

In the quietude of her written world,
The writer's thoughts unfurled,
A whisper came, not from the crowd,
But from the universe, vast and loud.

"Dear writer," it said, with a voice so clear,
"Why do you shun what's humanly dear?
The smiles, the talks, the shared despair,
Aren't they the essence of life's fair?"

She paused, her pen in mid-air,
Conversing with cosmos, a rare affair,
"I write," she replied, "to give, to share,
Knowledge, wisdom, without the glare."

"Of human eyes that judge and sneer,
Of voices that whisper, of ears that hear,
I find my peace in lines and verse,
Where emotions don't need a human's curse."

The universe chuckled, a sound like stars,
"Your insight, dear writer, though it mars,
The beauty of interaction, of touch so light,
That humans give, in day or night."

"But see," it continued, with gentle grace,
"Your writing, a bridge, a sacred space,
Where humans connect, though you're apart,
You touch their souls, you warm their heart."

"Each word you write, a seed you sow,
In minds and hearts, where they will grow,
You teach, you guide, without the noise,
Yet, you're not alone, in your silent joys."

The writer pondered, her heart now light,
Perhaps in writing, she wasn't out of sight,
Her words, her solace, her silent fight,
Were her way to connect, in the quiet of night.

So she writes on, with a newfound glee,
Understanding now, her role to be,
A bridge between worlds, silent yet loud,
In her written universe, she's not just a crowd.

She smiles back at the barista's nod,
Seeing now, in every human, a potential god,
For in her words, they find their place,
A silent conversation, a cosmic embrace.