There isn’t anything around, not really, yet this nothing curves around me. I could reach out, if I wanted, and run my hands along the softness of it. I choose not to, too content where I am.

When my eyes are open I see pale light dancing above me. Actually, when I turn my head I see much the same. The light is surrounding me, showing pictures of old memories from long ago.

My mother hums a tune in one, her warm brown eyes focused only on me. In the next I’m smelling the sweetness of a pie. Even if it is still an imagine I swear I feel the tickle of the scent against my nose.

It’s warm here, too. Not that uncomfortable warmth that sticks to you. No, this is different.

This is the feeling of being wrapped up in a heated blanket on a chilly day. A snapshot of the moment someone hugs you tight and fends off the loneliness all around. That moment you step into the sun, the heat warming your skin.

Nothing is sharp. Nothing is scary.

I am safe.