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I felt my sanity begin to slip, so I began to daydream.
When I daydream, I dream of my wedding day — I dream of walking down the aisle made by countless rows of white tulips facing a body of water full of life.
I daydream of making coffee, pulling out two mugs from a wooden cabinet, filling both equally — I dream of a love similarly and equally rewarding in flourishment mirroring fulfillment — steam caressing my peaceful skin.
I dream of a life surrounded by encouragement and support, where I don’t feel the force of trying so hard for harmonious winds — a daydream of a life where love comes with ease, even when it’s not easy.
I daydream of grassy fields and natural light, where homemade is given endless meaning.
I dream of stillness and slowness, where each moment feels as an eternity amidst passion.
I daydream of a home, and suddenly am delivered from insanity.
A hope that home is closer than life tends to lead on.
A hope that embodies an elongated hold of breath intertwined with a deep exhale.
