The sky is dark but there are no street lights to illuminate the night
I hold a too hot mug of tea in my hands, my tounge burnt by impatience
A book of romper room stories signed by a grandmother that is not mine rests on my bedside table
it lies next to an english translation of 100 years of solitude, a 400 page account of a family that does not resemble mine

A warm blanket rests on my shoulders as an old lamp illuminates my room with a soft yellow glow
the dark lines of dirt under my nails bring a strange sense of comfort
a reminder of a time that I had not realized had passed long ago

My room is filled with reminders of every part of me and those that lived long before me
I lie on my mother's childhood comforter staring at her aunt's cross-stitching
my father's old trunk acts as my bedside table while his grandmonther's painting rests on my wall

A painting made long ago is hung up next to a note from a woman I cannot meet again
A reciept faded by years of sunlight is overlapped with a fortune from a cookie I do not remember eating

Surrounded by all those I have loved and those that have loved me,
I truly hope this is where I can find peace