Every night, I have the same dream. I’m outside, in the middle of nowhere. Standing on a tiled path in the middle of a grassy field. It’s always a foggy morning. I can see at a distance that there is a house. Whenever I try to make my way over to it, the house moves farther away. I feel as though I’m just running in place. I can’t help but ask myself why? Why can’t I go to the house? All I want is to see what’s inside. Maybe meet those who might live there. Another part of me, thinks that maybe it’s a good thing that I can’t get to the house. After all, what is so bad about it that I’m kept away from it. “Who knows, who cares.” I tell myself after I wake up. Deep down though I do care. Which one will win out, my paranoia or my curiosity.