blueprints
you feel like home
but not the kind
that leaves a spare key.
yours is a house in progress
with half-painted walls
a lockbox on the front door
a basement wrapped in drop-cloth.
to most
the mess means hazards.
danger.
but to me
messy simply means
human.
I’ve walked the grand
unfinished halls
with no map
no plan
but curiosity
and faith
that I can explore.
the spaces seem to whisper
with possibility.
some doors I’ve come upon
reveal beautiful rooms.
others stay locked
requiring keys that I don’t yet have.
when I sit on the porch at night
letting the breeze brush my face
watching fireflies dance
I’m close enough
to feel the warmth
through the shutters.
I never know
quite when to enter
and yet
I keep returning
because
even in construction
the foundation feels safe
and I want to see the blueprints
unfurl into something
I might belong to
someday.
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