A dream. Only a dream.
Yet it felt so real. It was real; as true as fiction seems real in a dream. My dream. It flashes across my vision as I hazily begin to awake myself.
A rickety old cabin, swaying in the midnight air as if the breeze may take it far, far away.
I wish that I had been taken far away. Far away from this misery.
The inside flooding with memories that refuse to fade; but visibly decaying by a force no one would ever understand.
I’m losing strength. I sway, dead on my feet. The midnight air is choking me.
This force is grabbing a hold of it; suffocating any last defence the mass may bring. The last tether detaches from this place...far, far away...causing it to collapse slowly...to slip away...
Just as I am.
I grab ahold of my nightstand as my body falls forward. Thump. The razor falls off. This force has moved me to the limits, and I cannot shake this monster...this ghost of---
Hope. The only thing stronger than fear. The only possible force that keeps that cabin standing. Just barely holding on. In hope that its past inhabitants will return from their deep slumber. Will save this mass from crumbling to its knees. A soft cry in the middle of the night. When you know it’s too late. The death of true Happiness. Forever.
“The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.” (Bible 2 Peter 3:9) I feel that I am a victim of long suffering, but I am no Lord Jesus Christ.
I am the cabin. I am waiting. I sway with the breeze and cry through the night; hoping that they will come home. What is Home? Where? Nowhere without my mother and father. Nowhere that does not hold the sweet aura of summertime or the smiles and kisses a new day brings. That was all taken away. We lived in that cabin long ago. A time where smiles a plenty and fires contained. But anything contained will escape some day.
Even on the ground, it’s still fighting. Still waiting. Still wondering.
What if the fire had been contained to the oven, and that dishcloth from the top shelf had not fallen down. What if this cabin did not sway? It would mean that I wouldn’t fear another day. A day that I wouldn’t feel my lips press together tightly, the quick swipe of cool metal purchasing against my bare skin, and the flow of my Hope swirling down the drain.
But any battle must have a win or loss, but all depends on how you pursue.
I had remained in that house, all curled up in the corner. Not a worry in the world; a book in my lap and the flashlight on. I had hoped Mommy and Daddy would not come to bed that night. I was on the best chapter in my book. It seemed that I had gotten my wish. Now I am on my worst.