Unfamiliar house brings comfort and nostalgia

I am walking down a quiet street at dusk, the kind of neighborhood I do not quite recognize but feels familiar all the same. The air is thick with the scent of lilacs (one of my favorite smells), and the pavement is still warm beneath my feet. I am not wearing shoes, but it does not bother me.

At the end of the street stands a dilapidated house with a wraparound porch and windows that glow like lanterns. Something about it tugs at me. I step onto the porch, and the wood creaks under me. When I reach for the doorknob it turns easily in my hand, as if expecting me.

Inside, the house feels familiar. There is floral wallpaper and heavy velvet curtains. I walk through the rooms and every piece of furniture and every photograph feel to be exactly as it should be. It's unfamiliar yet comfortable being inside.

Then I hear footsteps upstairs. They are slow. I call out, but no one answers. A strange feeling settles in my chest. Not exactly fear, but a deep awareness that I am not alone. I climb up the stairs and see a door slightly ajar. Inside, an older lady in her 80's it seems is sitting in a chair by the window, gazing out. She does not turn when I enter, but I can almost feel that she has been waiting for me. Then I woke up. #House #Nostalgia Although this might sound a tinge off-putting, being in the same room as her felt comforting and safe. I do hope to see her again.