My back hurts from sitting in the same place all day.

Nights like these, when the breeze is filtering through my window, bugs crawling on the glass, it almost feels like summer. And for some reason, it makes my heart thud in its place, reverberating against the frame of my body, the emptiness of my room, filling the space between my ears, the corners of my eyes. I want to blink and find myself in a place I used to know. With its painted walls and narrow hallways, bad plumbing and many bugs. I want to find myself in the place that I used to call home, where my little brother and sister used to roam free, my grandpa in the backyard, my mom in the kitchen. I want to find myself feeling the familiar grass in between my toes, the familiar lake air expanding my lungs, the familiar tree bark rubbing against my finger tips. I want to blink and be there. In the past. In the present. In the future.

I want it to be real.

I want it to be real.