An Empty Room

The windows are open. The curtains dance to the limit of their very being. The soft bed is beckoning. It beckons a friendly face to come. The hard wood chair is lonely. It waits, like the desk and pencils, for school to end and homework to begin. The clothing-less clothes-hangers dangle from their bar. The flute lies cold, un-blown. Pillow is fluffed. The lamp is cold. The room is filled, yet it is empty.
Beyond the windows lie a world of surpassing beauty. Outside the windowpanes is a planet, not a mind’s eye could imagine. But this room waits. It knows not what it’s missing. This room is empty.
Once the pencil is picked and used, it is no longer lonely. The pillow no longer yearns to be smashed. The lamp is no longer shivering, the curtains rest. This room can be filled. Our hearts can be no longer empty.
We long for something more. We are not home.

If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for a different world.
                                                    --C.S. Lewis