I sit naked on my bed and wrap blankets around myself.

Determined to dream about more than what I feel, I create a cocoon of soft fluff. I surround myself with love, with words, with poetry, with praise. I create pillows out of appreciation and pride and lay my head gently on the bed. I want to emerge a beautiful butterfly, I whisper. I want to become that which I see in my future. I clasp my eyes shut and I pray.

I pray in my dreams. I am atop a tall tree looking across a vast horizon. As I stand, my legs shake and I collapse against a strong limb of the tree. “I thought you were brave,” says a voice. “Not yet this brave,” says another.

I am transported in my dreams. I am huddled against rocks in a icy landscape. Chilling winds brush against my hair, a cruel caress stealing my heat. I pull myself closer, within myself, and I think of you. I think of warmth and love and I can only think of you. Why can I only think of you? “Not this time,” says a voice, and I am pulled away from my embrace.

I am kneeling on a beach. I hear the cooing of birds and smell the ocean in the air. There is a cottage by the ocean, modest and humble, hiding a yard behind its facade. I can taste bitter hope on my tongue. Sticky and dry, it dehydrates me. From behind me, I hear, “Will this bring true happiness? Or only true contentment?” I turn around to inquire about the difference. Are those not the same things?

The evening sun has lit the sky in shades of pink and orange. As I look out towards the horizon, I feel two arms wrap around me. A gentle huff of breath on my neck sends shivers down my back. I clasp my eyes shut and I pray. I pray to dream about more than what I feel. I beg to be transported to another world, another fantasy: “This one hurts just a little too much,” I whisper.

I open my eyes and I am in my grandparent’s village, kneeling in front of God. It is always quiet here, but there is a tension to the quiet now. I open my lips to speak but the silence kisses my voice away. I pray.

I pray in questions and queries. I hear whispers in the air. “People love and stop loving. People become afraid, choose apathy over a challenge. People break bonds that they never intend to keep. People work to rebuild them. People work to remove them. But there is movement in these decisions, in these words. So, breathe. There is always movement.”

I breathe. I open my eyes and I am back in bed. I am sweating under a bundle of blankets.

I move. I peel off my layers and sit up a little straighter, a little less lost, a little less naive.

I breathe. I am still yearning, still hoping, still hurting, still growing.

I pray for a calmer day.