No matter who you are or where you’ve been or what you look like on the outside, no matter what the cadence of your voice is like when you’re feeling at home and comfy, I hope you get home safe tonight.

If there are walls between you and the dark and the cold and the bitterness outside, I hope they’re trustworthy, solid, strong walls that protect the well-being of you and yours. I hope the door stands firm in its frame, I hope the locks don’t break.

I hope that anyone, even the reaper, could come knocking and you could know that you don’t have to let him in unless you want to.

I hope you sleep safe and sound until the morning. I hope that you dream sweet dreams.

I hope that the unspoken expectation that tomorrow will go on being much like all the days before will be left peacefully intact,

And I hope that you go on living, sometimes without even stopping to notice that you’re alive, because you are so caught up in all the things that make that life important.

This is such a small hope.

At the same time, it is everything.