The Hidden Room

There is a room I’ve built without nails or wood.
Its size is immeasurable.
A whole world I’ve never shown anyone.

At first, it held impossibly coloured landscapes and even more impossible creatures, with grand waterfalls.
Somewhere to escape. Somewhere to feel safe.

As time went on, the landscapes were abandoned, and a house was built in their place—somewhere I could belong, with family who loved me.

I imagined an older brother I named Jimmy and a twin sister.
My protector and companion.
I imagined myself a different person—one who looked like the blond, blue-eyed white girls I grew up with.

As more time passed, and I met people I felt safe with, my twin faded.
No longer needed when real bonds were forming.
I stopped imagining myself as someone else.
I learned to love my brown eyes and black hair.

Only Jimmy remains—shape-shifting into a wise older cousin, then into a younger one who needs guidance.
I imagine him in foreign cities where I visit him and meet his friends, who are—incidentally—my celebrity crushes.

Sometimes, the room is a ring, where I win arguments I can’t bring up in person.

I still visit the room.

Sometimes, I wander in like an aimless ghost—
slipping in when I shouldn’t,
when I’m meant to be working,
when everyone else seems focused and present.

And I hate that I can’t always stop myself.
But I’ve come to accept it.
The room is part of me.

It holds my deepest longings—recurring characters, imagined futures, romantic love, lust, wonder, victory.
I live entire lives in there.
Lives where I’m brilliant at something.
Where I’m recognised. Desired. Safe. Seen.

Sometimes, it feels like I’m playing The Sims.
My avatar thrives while my body is rotting away.
Sometimes, I wake up from the warmth of those imagined moments and feel the sharp pain of loneliness again.

The room helps me get by.
But the more time I spend there, the more I lose in the real world.
There’s a push and pull to it. A gravity.

Maybe I’ll always need it.
Maybe the room will always be a part of me.