At times, I rather be alone

When I come home,
I wouldn't mind having the opportunity to roam,
home,
alone.
A feeling of satisfaction arises,
then I lay down,
like a cloud,
in the sky,
up high.
Silence,
no whispers,
no knocks,
creaking of doors.
Wake up,
to the light through the
window;
to the sound
of my snoring.
Would it be boring,
you may ask?
I doubt it.