Sometimes we lay there at night, talking for hours upon hours until the morning light.
You exist in head, my heart and my soul for free, one of life's late night mysteries.

A mother sees her son crying:

Mother: "My son, why are you crying".

Son: "mother I am in pain".

Mother: "Where does it hurt and I shall make it better".

The son points to his heart

Mother: "Oh my sweet boy. The only way to heal that which ails you is to confront that which you fear".

The son stares into the sky

Son: "Why...why, why must I feel this way"

Mother: "Because we are human, we laugh, we cry, we love. Sometimes it's not about the "how" you feel but the "why".

Son: "Mother, does the pain ever go away?"

Mother: " Of course it does, you have nothing to fear because everything will be alright in the end and if everything is not alright.......then it is not yet the end".

Son: "Mother, how did you overcome that which you feared?"

Mother: "Well that's simple. I met your father and we stepped into the unknown together. He said with something unsaid on both ends surely we know the difference" .

Son: " I understand now. It is not the "why" I must focus on but the "how" to move forward".

Mother: "One day you will find your reason to keep moving forward and it will surprise you in ways you could never imagine".

I walk up the steps.
Slowly, savoring the peace that fills the air.
The door stays unlocked.
Everything looks the same- untouched.
The air is warm.
Still.
It feels like home.

I sit down.
It is everything I wanted.
Peace falls in through the windows.
I can feel the sun on my face.

Then I remember.
This place isn’t real.
It doesn’t exist.
I never built it.
I never lived here.
I’ve never felt real peace like that.

I stay longer than I mean to.
Each time, it’s harder to leave.
Safety without questions or emotions.
Like I never had to earn any of it.

It only shows when I close my eyes.
It only holds me in silence.
No one else knows.
But I know the walls aren’t real.
I only built it because I needed somewhere to go.

I stay a little longer.
I let it hold me anyways.
Not knowing the next time I will feel this again.
Even if it is fake.

Then I open my eyes.
And try to carry the warmth with me.
Even if the house isn’t real.
Even if the peace is fake.

And still-
When I close my eyes, it’s the only place that’s home.

Leaving gets harder.
The ache lasts longer.
But I always leave.

Because I have to.
Because this house won’t follow me.
Because dreams aren’t real.
It’s too dangerous to stay in dreams.
Even if it’s the only time I’ve felt peace.
It wasn’t real.
And it never will be.

The warmth fades.
I carry what I can.
Now I’m cold.
Alone.
No safety, no peace.
Even if it was fake, I still had it.
Some part of me always stays behind.
That part is hope.

Hope only exists in my dreams.
I have to let it go in order to leave.
Some dreams live just to be visited.