The side effects of living in a home full of fear are the dreams.
You dream of minuscule things. Rituals that have been tainted with fear are turned into something safe, something good, something yours.
You dream of waking up feeling whole, lungs full of air, arms stretching wide. No more knots growing in your stomach, no more listening to hear if your parents are awake, no more worrying if they are angry.
You dream of a place that is yours. You imagine an apartment with big windows, letting in sunlight, keeping you warm. Here you can move freely. Here you can take up space without shame. Here no one will reprimand you for your existence.
You dream of laughing with your friends. It is a deep wholesome laugh, rooted in the warm glow of the kitchen light. It is not a laugh suffocated with the weeds your parents grew. It is a laugh that sounds like spring; same plants and new beginnings.
You dream because it is all you can do.
You dream because it is what keeps you alive.
You dream because it is what reminds you that there is a point in surviving.