Soft as the delicate wings of an emerging butterfly,
Fluttering, sighing, in the subtle breeze,
Always whispering, ever beckoning,
Come in, come in, come in.
Hushed voices call promises, inviting, enticing,
Welcoming me into the one place promises are kept.
And though I know it is wrong to wish so hard,
To ache for something, which many do not understand,
To crave a reality that I cannot have,
To pine away on mere fantasy,
I strain, I long, to be part of that world,
To drift into lives I’ve yearned to live,
To be with the people I’ve grown to love,
To join the friends who’ve never left my heart,
To merge with the ones who truly know me,
To fall into a family that has become my own,
To sink into a place I now call home,
To be engulfed, consumed, immersed,
Enveloped, draped, submersed,
By the soothing safety,
That solely lies,
In the pages of a book.