Safe Within These Walls

At night, the walls hug me tightly, not enough to squeeze, but just enough for me to feel the warmth. The curtains shut, and the unknown outside can’t find me, but the moonlight still shines through. The world can be sharp and demanding, but inside, the edges soften. Shoes come off. Shoulders drop. You breathe differently. There is permission to be unguarded, to exist without performance. Home is not built from brick or wood. It is built from return. From the way your shoulders drop without permission. From the quiet joy of knowing exactly where the light switch is in the dark. And in that knowing, in that soft, unguarded stillness, the house glows, not with brightness, but with belonging.