It’s midnight now and I’m laying next to you in bed listening as your breathing slows, sleep overcoming your attempts to stay awake. I hate this time of night because it means I can’t talk to you, calling out because I saw, heard, or thought something I can’t keep to myself. I can’t be with you in your dreams, experiencing events together. I hate it because I miss you.

Goodnight my love, goodnight.

I arrived broken.

Alone, scared, evanescent, identityless.

I was a middle-aged child who had been homeless between four walls.

I was emotionless and empty, not knowing, or caring, if I was alive.

I wondered, if my car stalled on the tracks with a train hurling towards it, would I get out?

I had lived in a world of ugliness and filth, with all exits blocked.

I could look at the sky and see nothing but a cold, stark shell, unaware I existed.

Full of life, joy, love, and belonging.

I know my place, I know my role.

I know myself.

I’ve seen places that took away my breath and laughed until I couldn’t breathe.

When I look up, the sky isn’t bleak, it’s a universe of wonder, waiting to be examined.

The scars are still there, but I don’t mind.

They remind me where I came from, and show me who I am.

It’s me, I’m alive.

Here I come.