Whispers of a White House

I always dreamed of a white house.

Not just any house, but a house like Laura’s,

Nestled deep in the woods, hidden from the world,

A place kissed by sunlight and shadow,

Walls gleaming in pure white, standing tall,

Strong against the winds that whispered secrets,

Through the trees that danced with the breeze.

In my dreams, it was perfect.

An orchard stretched out beside it,

Just like Muller’s in San Francisco,

Golden sunflowers swaying in the gentle wind,

Their faces forever turned towards the sun,

Their whispers soft, singing to my soul.

I imagined the way they would rustle,

Their petals brushing against each other,

In a golden sea that stretched endlessly,

Beyond the boundaries of my imagination.

There would be a library, too,

Not just any library, but one like Hogwarts,

With shelves that climbed to the ceiling,

Stacked with books filled with magic and mystery,

Worlds waiting to be discovered,

Stories waiting to be told.

I could almost feel the old leather covers,

The pages soft under my fingers,

The scent of aged paper filling the air,

Whispering tales of distant lands,

Of heroes and villains,

Of love and loss,

Of dreams like mine,

Waiting to come alive.

I even dreamed of a dog,

A playful soul, just like Tintin’s Snowy,

Boundless energy wrapped in fur,

Chasing butterflies through the golden fields,

Rolling in the soft grass,

Barking at the shadows that danced,

Against the white walls of my perfect house.

He would be my companion,

My friend, my confidant,

The one who would understand my whispers,

The keeper of my secrets,

The guardian of my dreams.

And I would live freely,

With enough money to never worry,

A job that would set me free,

Not chain me down,

Something I loved,

Something that made my soul sing.

I would write,

I would dream,

I would live like Anne Shirley,

With my heart wide open,

With my mind full of wonder,

With my spirit dancing to the music of life.

I would watch the sun rise,

Turning the sky into a canvas,

Painted in shades of pink and gold,

While I sipped my coffee on the porch,

Listening to the world wake up,

To the birds singing their morning songs,

To the trees rustling their sleepy leaves,

To the whisper of the breeze,

Carrying the scent of blooming sunflowers.

I would walk through my orchard,

Fingers grazing the golden petals,

Feet sinking into the soft earth,

Heart dancing with the butterflies,

Under the endless sky.

I would write in my library,

Words flowing like rivers,

From my heart to the paper,

Stories of magic, of love,

Of dreams just like mine.

But life had other plans.

Somewhere along the way,

I lost myself,

My dreams slipped through my fingers,

Like sand falling from a clenched fist.

I ended up somewhere I never imagined,

Somewhere cold,

Somewhere loud,

Somewhere that didn’t feel like home.

I found myself in a city,

Concrete and steel,

Noise echoing off the towering walls,

Drowning out the whispers of my dreams,

Stealing the magic I once believed in.

I found myself trapped,

In a job that chained my soul,

In responsibilities that weighed me down,

In a routine that blurred my days,

Into an endless cycle of nothingness.

There were no sunflowers,

No golden fields stretching endlessly,

No breeze whispering through the trees,

No butterflies dancing with the sunlight.

There was no library of magic,

No shelves climbing to the sky,

No scent of old books,

No worlds waiting to be discovered.

There was no dog,

No playful soul chasing butterflies,

No soft fur to bury my dreams in,

No loyal heart to guard my secrets.

There was only noise,

Concrete and steel,

Responsibilities and routines,

Endless tasks and deadlines,

Noise that drowned out my whispers,

Weight that crushed my spirit.

There was a house,

But it wasn’t white,

It wasn’t kissed by sunlight,

It wasn’t strong against the wind.

It was just a building,

Walls and windows,

Cold and empty,

Even when crowded.

It wasn’t a home,

It was a cage,

A place I lived,

But never belonged.

And I felt lost,

Trapped between two worlds,

The one I dreamed of,

Painted in white,

Soft and silent,

Full of magic and wonder,

And the one I lived in,

Loud and chaotic,

Concrete and steel,

Cold and empty.

I looked for my dreams,

In the noise of the city,

In the weight of responsibilities,

In the routines that stole my days.

But they were gone,

Lost somewhere between who I was,

And who I had become.

I wanted to go back,

To that white house,

To those golden fields,

To that library of magic,

To that dog chasing butterflies.

I wanted to go back,

To who I was,

To who I dreamed of being,

To the child who believed,

In magic, in wonder,

In dreams that came true.

But I couldn’t.

Life doesn’t give you back,

What you lose along the way.

Life doesn’t let you turn back,

To the road you didn’t take.

Life doesn’t wait,

For you to catch your breath,

For you to find yourself,

For you to dream again.

So now,

I stand between two worlds,

The one I dreamed of,

And the one I live in.

I close my eyes,

And I see it…

The white house,

The golden fields,

The library of magic,

The dog chasing butterflies,

I see it all,

So vividly,

So painfully close,

Yet so impossibly far.

I dreamed once,

Of a white house,

Of a life full of magic,

Of a world where dreams came true.

And now,

I dream of escaping,

This life that doesn’t fit,

This cage built from expectations,

This echoing void,

Between dreams and reality.

I dream of returning,

To that white house,

To those golden fields,

To that magic,

To that child who believed,

Dreams were meant to come true.

I dreamed once,

And maybe,

Just maybe,

I’ll dream again…