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Four walls, snug and safe. Icy cold outside, no wandering today. Sometimes books are my best friends. They don’t say anything. You can just soak them up. You can scribble in them and underline and dog ear, and they don’t mind. You don’t have to change your soul for them. You don’t have to worry about them ‘seeing’ who you are.

I rest in my room. There are four walls, and my soul is gliding through the two covers of a friend I call ‘my book.’

I have probably close to three hundred books, perhaps more, though I haven’t counted for several years. Where do they fit, you ask? Why, just in the bookshelf space, the wall space for posters of cute guys. Never really could get into that–the cute guy thing. Books are nicer.

My roommate off at Western once said I was a very wise person (I was giving her advice on something-or-rather, or perhaps was voicing one of my Life views).

I snorted. “Only part of the time,” I said. “Remember what I say about boys.”

She laughed and did a pretty good imitation of my voice: “Boys are stupid.”

Not a very nice thing to say, I know. But then again, I never was one to bandy words. Sure, I can have a silver tongue, but I’d rather be blunt. Can’t they just all be sent across the Northern Sea, as was sung by the old piano I used to play? The one we don’t have anymore?

Chip away at my four walls if You will, Jesus. My discomfort has never stopped You before. Deaths, new life, new places, new churches, new friendships, changing friendships, changing churches, changing homes, changing jobs, moving, moving, moving.

I’m a child, but an adult.

An adult capable of making decisions. An adult with two college degrees, and my certification to teach highland dance. An adult. An adult. An independent adult. Joy.

A child capable of laughter and play. A child in heart but so rarely in actions. Not anymore.

I am like a surging sea, racing forward, tumbling back. So hard to stop, impossible to contain. Made of bitter saltwater in my soul.

I am a home by the sea, contained in four walls, trapped in an imaginary world of books.