Easter morn as an adult.

I imagine you
waking me up for the grandest breakfast,
the freshest coffee and pastries,
eggs by the dozen,
hash browns on the skillet.

You remind me that your
family is my family.

You invite me to the egg hunt
at the nearby park,
and I let myself smile and feel joy,
let it extend to my eyes,
to my fingertips,
to my heart.

At the end of the day,
after we've exhausted ourselves
running around in nature,
I let you hug me.

I let you say you're happy
to have me here.

A place I belong.

A place of light.

A place without fear,
without the kind of tension
that would once threaten my sanity.

There is no chaos here,
no hiding in rooms that
I thought would end up our tombs.

The quiet does not mean war
in this home.

The quiet means peace.

(I am home).