I'm in here.

The humid air feels like sludge wrapped around my body.
It feels thick in my lungs. Sweat clings to my eyebrows as I peer up into the bright day.
The sun is on it's decent from the sky, after a long day of feeding plants and burning skin.
I wipe my forehead, and step down from my front porch. My brown leather sandals crunch
as I walk on the cracked old sidewalk. The plants on my block are flourishing in the rich summer.
They're beautiful, comforting and serene. They remind me just how beautiful silence is.

A small silver car drives past me on my block. I've always loved the way cars make that
whoosh sound as they pass by. It reminds me of growing up. Sometimes I would sneak
out after my parents had fallen asleep. I would walk down to the interstate. I would use
the hole in the fence, right by the yellow pedestrian sign. I would sit in the cool grass
by that road. And I would watch and listen. Whoosh.

My block is one of those stereotypical small town blocks. Cars passing through are seldom,
due to the fact we we're adjacent to a main street. My blonde haired neighbor smiles and waves.
I muster a feeble smile back. I think about when I first moved here. My mom saying "That woman
looks like she's drugged up on something." I remember the way my room smelled when I first
moved in. I remember feeling so much like I didn't belong. I remember my long walks alone,
late at night. Smoking cigarettes, and befriending the darkness of the night. I remember
the streetlight that I would sit under, near the abandoned building. The way it blinked, on those
cool nights.

Even though the day is almost over. The night has yet to come. I look forward to the night.
It's my safe haven. Somewhere I've always sought refuge from the events of the day. I cross
the torn up street and walk under the cement underpass. The cool shade it brings feels good.
A man in a orange reflective vest salutes me as I walk through the construction site. I salute
him back. Finally a greeting I can return without feeling awkward. The pieces of the destroyed
building litter the yard. Like a battle scarred solider, the building still stands in part. Refusing
to succumb to the efforts of the tireless workers assigned to destroy it.

I enjoy the poetry and simplicity of this scene as I move through it. At the edge of the construction
site there is a small fence. I remove my sandals and throw them over it. I scale the fence with ease,
despite my feet being unshielded. I slip my old sandals back onto my now dirty feet. I walk through
the lush green grass. The blades of grass tickle my dirty feet. The sun now golden orange, begins to
fade into the horizon. Light collapsing into the earth, to bide until the moon takes it's rightful place
high in the sky. I part the low hanging branches of the weeping willow, and enter the amazing
room it creates. The golden light of the sun barely penetrates this beautiful place. But just enough
to remind me that the sun is still there. Looking for me, wondering where I escaped to.

The boughs of the willow are thick, leafy and green. They keep the room they shield a secret.
My secret. My sanctuary. The room is lined with the vivid pink pedals from the willow. Like fallen
children they lay, their time has come and passed. The cool air wraps around me like a blanket,
cleaning off the sludge of humidity. I walk deeper towards the center of this great keep. I run my
fingers down the rough bark of the willow. I lean against it's trunk, and slide to the ground.
My sandals fall from my feet, and onto the dirt. The ground feels cool against my body,
as I am cradled by the tree. A breeze lightly blows the branches of the willow, their light conversation
lulls me to sleep.

My dreams are sometimes more vivid than reality. Sometimes I am trapped under great weight.
Sometimes I am attacked by poisonous beings, trying to still the life I hold on to. Sometimes
I am falling. From great heights, hurtling towards death with unimaginable speed. Sometimes I
don't dream. I cherish those moments of limbo. Those moments of blankness keep me safe. But my
dreams in this place are not terror, or fear. They are not death or loss. They are of my warm bed
during the winter. They are of my family and friends. I cherish these dreams more than my blank
lonely ones. They are of my dreams, they are of my acceptance of life.

I awaken to the same lullaby that I fell asleep to. The light bristling of the branches in the breeze.
There is very little light left under the willow. It has changed from golden orange to the deep blue
before nightfall. I feel refreshed, I feel reenergized, I feel alive again. I slip my sandals back onto my
dirty feet. I stand and feel the blood flow through my body. I spend a moment, and breath deeply.
"Good bye." I whisper, for no one but my keep to hear. I part the branches in the same place I entered.
I step out of my keep.

I turn for just a moment, looking at the great Willow one last time. This will be the last time I will
visit my sanctuary. The last time I will dream peacefully, knowing that I'm sheltered by the willow.
I'm reminded of when I moved from my first house. I'm reminded of the way I cried, and pleaded
with my parents to stay. I'm reminded of the way I still visit that place, because I know I left a piece
of myself there. That's just the way I am. I know I'll miss it.

The grass tickles my dirty feet the same way as before. The humidity has depleted from the air,
it is more comfortable than before. I hear something from inside the willow. I turn around quickly,
afraid at first. Then calm. Staring back at me, is myself. Just a shadow really, except for my eyes.

"Hey." I say, and salute.
I salute back, and nod.
"I'm in here." I say.
"I know." I reply.
"I'll miss you, dude." I say.
"I'll miss you too. Be good." I reply.
"You too. Don't forget, Okay?" I say.
"Ok." I reply.

I watch as the outline of my eyes fade back behind the branches. I turn back towards the chain link fence.
It's clinking and clanking is friendly in the falling light. The battlefield is quiet, it's combatants home with
their families. Done for today. The building has survived another day. I salute the building, in honor of my
own metaphor. The tunnel of the overpass is dark in the evening light. I walk slower through it to avoid
tripping on anything.

My stereotypical small town block is just as I left it. The houses have their living room lights on. Families
eating dinner together, talking about their days. What they did, how they feel. Eating the spaghetti
and meatballs, american style. Small town style. My brown leather sandals crunch on the old sidewalk.
A sidewalk traveled by many, but one that I would never travel again. I reach my front path quickly,
even though I was savoring my walk home. Tomorrow I'll leave, and never plan to come back. I'm happy
to move on though. I'm happy that I'll be able to make new memories, and find a new sanctuary.

But I'm never going to forget that one. Never going to forget the piece of myself that I left there.
"I'm in here."