At night I cry.

I cry for a place divided into four.

I cry for a clear Northern Sky, a radiant Southern Sun.

I cry for a great Western Wood, a glistening Eastern Sea.

At night I read.

I read the poems, the stories.

I read of return to Narnia, and of Susan’s redemption.

I read and I cry, for they can return, and I cannot.

At night I dream.

I dream of a land of rolling grass.

I dream of the Stone Table cracked in two.

I dream of my home from which I am held.

At night I hurt.

I hurt for my home, Narnia in her Golden Age.

I hurt for the want to be there.

I hurt to be torn from this cruel world, and given new life in Her.

And at night I pray.

I pray to Mighty Aslan, to the Gracious Lord, to Forgiving Jesus.

I pray that they have mercy upon me.

I pray that they give me a hope to cling to.

The hope that someday, I will rip free of this world, and I will be home.