The misadventures of the heart and sometimes, the stomach.

Safe House.

You know, I like this place.

I have lived here for as long as I remembered. Most of my fondest memories were made here. This is all I know.

I like it here.


I like the fact that I know where all the things are, how the furniture is arranged. I like to know which drawer holds the spoons and which, the fine china. I like knowing that though I might be struck blind, I can still find my way around.  I like to look out my window and see what I expect to see every day. I like to know that my neighbour wouldn’t surprisingly turn out to be a serial killer. I like the comfort found in the familiar. I like the security that comes with this predictability.

And cocooned within this four walls that I know so well, it’s easy to overlook things. Sure the faucet is leaking and the flush is too loud. Sure I would’ve preferred if my neighbour did not make that much noise. I get it, the sex is great. But there is no need to use the Lord’s name in vain so loudly. But when I turn in for the night and sleep in my familiar bed, head held by those familiar pillows, all is forgiven. When I sit on the armchair that already has my body imprinted on it, it’s easy to convince myself that everything is fine.


You understand why I would feel like this right?


So when they told me that my house was on fire, I refused to believe them. They told me to leave while I still can, to forget about taking anything. They told me to save myself before it’s too late. But how can I leave? I can’t leave all this behind, even if I could grab something – what about my armchair? What about my bed? I wouldn’t be able to take them with me.

I can see the flames licking the sides of the furniture. The smoke is getting thicker and I can no longer tell which drawer held the spoons and which the fine china. I look out my window to see my neighbour on her knees, staring at my burning house and once again using the Lord’s name in vain. I look out my window and there are people yelling at me to get out, get out.

Get out? But here is safe. It has always been safe. Why isn’t it safe now?

I look out my window and the sight is no longer familiar.


I look out my window and crashed through it.


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