A light, for the night

I am a writer, a dreamy one. I sometimes get lost.

What should I write about today? What should I dream about tonight?

I get lost, not in the hills, nor in the woods nor in the clouds. My body lays still, but I keep wandering in my head. Where I search for words in dark, lonely houses.

These houses have words, and words mean everything. They house my thoughts, my memories, my sadness, my happiness.

What do you hold in these houses? Do you get nightmares too? Do you wake up and remember them, vividly? And, are your dearest memories safe in one of them?

Once, when I was awake, I wanted to write about these houses. But I couldn’t. The words I had, were too few to be chosen.

Still, I visit these houses every night. Maybe for the words, or maybe just to get lost in them. I try, but I can’t see or remember much.

So when I am awake: In my thoughts, can I create some light, to take to my dark houses of sleep? So that I could use it to see, when I am dreamy?

And then I could pick all the words, in all the houses? And bring them back to when I’m awake.

And write about all the houses, and all the words I would have found!

So I made up a light, and then left it in the one house I could always see. And it was safe there, I can never forget it.

I thought of this torch, shining bright. And then I wrote about it. And now, I am going to bed. In the hope that I am going to see every other house tonight.

And once I do that, I’ll bring back all the words to tell you. But only, if you can tell me the house in which I left my light!

These houses. They might be scary, or beautiful, dull, or colourful, maybe clouded by doubt, but rich with glimmers of hope.

But I know, they will be full of words, words that can’t wait to be written.

You know, I am a writer, a dreamy one.