Sad poetry

I will tell you a secret no one else knows.

Every night, when I fall asleep, I travel to another world. It's the same world where we live in now, but the wind whispers messages instead of ravens and the cool streams are full of magic, glowing and strong.

In the country, the thick, deep woods have waterfalls where the fairy’s hide behind them. They say hello when the children go there to play.

And in this world, I always meet you there. In our safe house. You are there, waving and smiling and laughing and dreaming, too. Weaving in and out of the catacombs of the old, perfect house and outside, I wander in nature for inspiration while you are inside to prepare for the day.

It is the house we always wanted but never spoke about. The one with the yellow golden walls and the lacy, delicate curtains. We would have tea late at night and write our stories in peaceful silence. Our mornings would be loud and fun and full of home cooked love: hot, fresh coffee and pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, fruit.

We would read each other’s writing and critique it, and I would read Jane Eyre out loud to you while you unwind on our patio.

It's nothing but some sad poetry, though.