your home is my home

His stories remind me of ours. Each leads down a dark street that hides behind shadows through the street lights, but each is lightly essenced with slight humor. He tells them with a beaming smile and a laugh with an uncertain tone because he's unsure of how long things will feel this way. He sleeps early through the nights, his restless body takes in energy through the dreams he dreams. He dreams you won't ever forget, he dreams that you will. He knows a weakness is coming on, he knows the streak will break, the sun will slip behind the clouds; he's just unaware of when. What he isn't doing is preparing. What he doesn't know is that the storm doesn't hit as hard when you are.