Close your eyes, and open:
You see blurred colors, and hear a whispered prayer.
I know that voice. That voice is home.

Close your eyes, and open:
You are running through the grass, climbing up trees,
catching ice cream dribbles with your tongue.

Close your eyes, and open:
Standing with your feet in a warm lake,
hundreds of little catfish nibbling at your feet.

Close your eyes, and open:
Your mother is crying, walking back to the car where you sit,
wrapped in a blanket, in the middle of the night.

Close your eyes, and open:
First kiss. Prom. Graduation.
This is anticlimactic.

Close your eyes, and open:
You have jumped off a really high cliff into the ocean,
"That was a dumb decision," you think, right before you smack the water.

Close your eyes, and open:
A man is breaking down in the empty train station in Italy,
his girlfriend stands by him.

Close your eyes, and open:
Hopping from crumbling stone, to stone,
crawling through a bush, you are atop an old castle.

Close your eyes, and open:
You have just failed your math class for the second time.
When will you get it together?

Close your eyes, and open:
You look in the mirror and see an adult.
When did this happen?

Close your eyes, and open:
You wake up that morning crying,
because you know better than that.

Close your eyes, and open:
You remind yourself why you exist.
You wait, hope, and pray for it to sink it.