when i was younger, i was burdened by questions of heaven.

they said that little kids would remember—remember the serendipity they all yearned for.

the place seemed familiar, almost memorable,

but i couldn’t discern the facts from the false.

i didn’t know what to say.

in dreams, i was so close—i could feel it,

and maybe see it, though I wasn’t a visual dreamer.

but heaven felt right next to me,

if i looked for it.

it felt like a separate universe,

far away yet close—like a tesseract, almost.

i was always taught that heaven was a perfect paradise.

when I was younger, I visualized lines—

perfect, straight lines of people,

all in order, following the rules.

and it was white.

so very white.

glowingly white.

now, older, i realize how wrong i was.

if everything was just white, straight lines,

that’s not paradise—that’s horror.

heaven is everything this world isn’t—and is.

it’s all the positive without the negative.

it’s the feeling of peace and happiness.

it’s love and joy.

it’s hope and beauty.

sometimes, i see heaven on earth—

standing atop a tall mountain,

marveling at the beauty of this world,

or sometimes, when i’m sleeping—

no stress, just peace.

i believe everyone has different ideas of what perfection is,

but heaven is what we can all agree on.

beauty, peace, love, happiness—

it’s what we want it to be.