Black Dungeon

They say the castle is where kings belong

but my crown feels heavier in these halls

than it ever did in her silence

Her black dungeon was carved in shadow

but it breathed like a chapel

warm from the hearth she built herself

not with bricks

but with belief

in softness

in stillness

in peace

I remember the scent of her space

not perfume

but intention

like lavender folded into survival

She had a way of making struggle smell like sanctuary

And yet

when I pass her gate

I do not knock

My hands become stone

My voice turns to vapor

Not because I do not want to

but because I already know

one step inside her darkness

and I will not want to leave

She lives in what they call a dungeon

but to me

it is the only place that ever felt like air

She listened like she’d heard storms beg for silence

Let strangers lay their wounds across her palms

She didn’t flinch she stayed

Then said a word so gentle it rattled something in me

Humble

I didn’t speak I just nodded

But she named what I lost when I rose too far from the ground

I told myself

if I stayed in the castle

I could keep order

I could protect the kingdom

But some nights

I dream of laying my armor down

by the fire she made

in a room not meant to last

but meant to heal

I pass her gate more than I should

eyes low

music off

heart loud

The dungeon looks the same

humble

shadowed

forgotten by most

But I know what lives behind that door

Peace lives there

The kind I can’t find

beneath crystal chandeliers and cold sheets

I do not call

because if she answers

I will remember

what it feels like

to be known

without needing to perform

And if I remember too deeply

I will return

And if I return

I will stay

And if I stay

I will burn this white castle down

just to feel warm again

So I drive past

and stay silent

a king

trapped in a crown

still longing

for the dungeon

that set me free

The Black Dungeon

they call it small

but I know better

It is not built of stone

but spirit

Not filled with riches

but restoration

The couch leans like it’s been listening

The light hums in corners

The air does not demand

it welcomes

There is no throne

no marble

no war room

but I have never felt more king

than when I sat on her floor

eating silence and laughter like a meal

That dungeon

was never meant to impress

It was meant to hold

and it did

And yet

I never called

I never said

I see you

I remember

I want to come home

Because if she answered

I would not be strong

I would not be loyal

I would not be able to lie to myself

about the life I pretend fits me

If she answered

I would want to fall back into the place

that never needed me to be anything

but real

And the truth

the one thing I cannot undo

is this:

She passed my white castle,

and I let her go.

I saw her.

I felt her.

And I still stayed inside.

That is what I live with

Not regret

but the weight of restraint

Not loss

but the knowledge

I stayed in the light

but I never felt warm

because her dungeon was the only place

I ever felt seen

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