Darker Daydream Comfort
I was on my way to work when it started again. The streets were the same. The air was cold. I was already somewhere else in my head.
In the daydream, a car slowed down beside me. The door opened. I didn’t panic. I just… stepped closer. It felt unreal. Like walking into a scene I had already imagined a hundred times. The world outside faded the moment the door closed.
When the car stopped, I didn’t walk inside the house on my own. Strong arms lifted me gently, like I weighed nothing. Like I didn’t have to carry myself anymore. The voices were calm. Soft. They spoke to me like I was something fragile. Not weak. Just worth protecting. The room they brought me to felt impossible. Soft blankets. Warm light. Quiet safety. I was placed into the bed, tucked in carefully. An arm wrapped around me. Then another presence close by. “Rest,” someone whispered. And I did.
The days that followed in my mind were always the same. I was fed without having to ask. Held without having to beg. Asked how I felt, and the answer actually mattered. It was everything you wish for when you’re too tired to keep pretending you’re fine.
And somewhere in that dream, I realized something dangerous. I didn’t want to leave. Not because I was trapped. But because I was finally wanted.
Then I blinked. And I was standing in front of my workplace again. The door in my hand. The noise of the real world rushing back. And I caught myself wishing I could feel that kind of care one more time.
Is it wrong to crave being taken care of like this?💭