Fly Away Home

I appreciate the transformative power of words. They can replenish the soul, inspiring a person to soar above the loftiest clouds. But a dark counterpart can also drag one’s hopes deep below the surface. Into the depths of an abyss devoid of any light. I never realized how fast those disparate effects can swing from one extreme to the other. I clutch the same pilled blanket I hid under as a girl. With a storybook and flashlight, I would create an imaginary castle beneath it each night. The cotton fabric protected me from the harsh reality beyond its borders. Once able to cover my entire body, it only reaches my chest. It’s proof that some things have grown with time. I roll over in bed and blink at Dillon’s book on the side table. It wasn’t a dream.

A mockingbird greets the rising sun with its delightful melody. Outside my open window, a gentle breeze ushers the scent of fresh-cut grass into my bedroom. There’s so much good to notice in the world. Instead, the porcelain plaque with a chipped corner catches my attention. Home is where the love is. The sign hangs cockeyed next to the door frame. I became aware that words can force us to face the sobering truth at that moment. With all these beautiful reminders of encouragement surrounding me, I realize there is no optimism inside. This is not home. There is no love here. My choices haunt me. I latched onto a woman who hurt me and pushed away someone who shared nothing but genuine affection with me. Dillon is gone. Forever.