My Heaven Is a Strange Place

by HelluvaGirl

This is how I live. This is how I love. This is mine.


Before his death, my Grandfather would spend his days lying in bed. Sometimes, I’d come into his room, sit beside and watch his face. The hazy look, wandering some distant terrains, as he was already on his way. I felt he could tell me something, reveal secrets I wouldn’t know, so I would lean in and ask him:

Grandpa, what do you dream these days?

His eyes still exploring spaces I couldn’t see, he’d reply:

I dream what I will eat in Heaven.


I’ve been hungry most of my life. This new truth I only begin to discover, fingers travelling its surface with a blind man’s accuracy:

I’ve always imagined one could either live alone, or live in love. My destiny, I’m finding, is both.

This new truth is the crumbs I pick from the ground now to sustain myself. Scarce as they are, I’m finding it is also the only food that appeases my famished self.

My Heaven is a strange place.