Chasing Amy-Lou

The place I lived when I was twelve was not a home to be seen, to be touched or held, not a place that did truly exist but somewhere to go when my mind was amiss.

Perhaps a castle, a cave or a beach; a wood full of trees, torment out of reach. Free from the stresses and strains of life, free from the cares, the worries and strife. Post teenage years were difficult, see, I couldn’t just play, be free, be me. So the sun always shone in my home back then, not a tear would fall, nor cloud in the sky, for all was as sweet as a fresh cherry pie.

A meadow to play in, a valley to roam, rivers to catch fish in my home away from home. Dreams came true, a princess I’d be, with lots of admirers and several keys; keys to the kingdom of one true love, keys to the happiness, that place up above. Nothing was ever far out of reach and love was abundant, pure, a relief.

There were treats on the table, a warm comfy bed, safety, security, always well fed. No quarrels or questions, no shortage of cash, no illness or ailments, only barrels of laughs; laughs that were loud, laughs that were real, laughs that sang out, never concealed.

This made-up haven wasn’t the truth, it’s where I retreated to salvage my youth. Growing up too fast was hard and cold, the stark light of day so vivid and bold.  The place I lived before thirteen, in reality wasn’t always so mean; love was there, hidden sometimes, lessons were learned, paths there to find; it wasn’t ideal and it wasn’t the best but we make do and mend, then only time will test.