Listening to a tweeting bird at 5:30 this morning I turn around facing the window, the skyline is capped in orange reddish hue behind the building, the earth’s fairy godmother pass by sprinkling her morning magic dust. While waiting for the next scene I grab my laptop and start. This is home. Writing. Have I told you the horrible and frightening nightmares that come to visit me? I remember loathing sundown, how the inevitable darkness of the night slowly creeps in my bed. Nightmares. Somewhere, somehow, someone is chasing craving for my flesh in pieces. Finally, one day after searching far and wide, the angel of dreams showed me the meaning of my nightmares. How inside of me is screaming, to look with my ear, listen with my eyes, taste with my touch. Today, I can’t wait for nighttime, where instead, fascinating dreams come chasing. How I long to write them here.


2 thoughts on “Home

  1. When I think of bubbles, I think of being a kid again. However, the connotation of the word bubble can be vast. Some people feel that they live in a bubble, as I do sometimes when all it takes is the courage to get up and get out. Others can sometimes feel because they’re different, they fit in a bubble. The thought of a physical bubble is of know consequence if you don’t love who you are! Come out of your bubble and breath, youre unique!

    Remember: you can’t be nobody else, nobody else can be you, so be the best you that you can be!

    Liked by 1 person

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