The castle

There is a place. It is dark and dry, it's old stone walls open to the black of the overhead sky. You could call this place a ruins, this old castle of mine, it's windows empty, glass long shattered by the impact of war. But the walls are sturdy, providing a kind of protection not found on the open of the fields. I lean back against the wall, feel it solid and slightly crumbly under my soft palms and tilt my head back to look up into the sky. Stars prick the darkness and I wonder gently if there is such a thing as meant to be.
I huddle closer to my wall and decide there must be.

I know I will have to choose at some point. To either leave the confines and the comfort of my ruined castle to seek the open lands and skies for something else, a new place to dwell from; or else I shall have to pick up a broom and start sweeping up the crumbles, and the shards, find new glass for the windows and somehow build a new roof.

I know I will have to choose one of these, I cannot stay touching this wall with my bare palms forever, but this is all I need for tonight. I need this wall. I need to love this wall, this ruin, this castle of my heart.

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