Last night I closed my eyes and dreamed of a house with no windows, one with flowers growing along the sides, with a perfect mother and a perfect father. I peeled back layers of my soul, and I found that in between each fold, you had crawled inside; planting seeds along my spine, sleeping soundly inside my cracks and bruises. Last night I lay beneath the roaring sky, it’s mocking face staring down upon me, pelting raindrops onto my lambent flesh, which I will hide inside the crooks of my elbows and knees, as a memory of the first day I had told myself that I loved you. When the morning sun rolled out aloft my sleeping shoulders, I imagined again how it would feel to live inside a house with no windows. I lay inside this thought for hours, letting it consume me, letting it thrive within my bones, becoming stars inside the sky painted across my sunken mouth. I lay inside my head, untill the world inside of it faded into the shadows, behind awakening into my own.