You are like home because here I have cried, laughed, loved, smiled, kissed the Sexiest man I know, made dinner, taken baths, and read countless stories.
Yet I do not want to be here. It is clean, but feels empty.
Small but yet perfect for 1.
I am 1, but I look ahead to becoming 2 in 1.
It is my home, but not ours.
It is a glorified hotel room and storage unit.
Not a home.
Home, however, is not elsewhere. It is no place I have or ever will have. Home is with The Lord. By definition, not a place, but a relationship.
18 8th St.
You are like home a little, too.
I tell people I live here, but it is also a place I leave
just when I want to stay.
This is not a quality I associate with home.
Yet you are a place I have loved, laughed, cried, cleaned–
a place where I do laundry and dishes and check mail…home-y things.
You are a place perfect for 2.
I am almost 2, and yet I am still 1.
It is our home,
but not mine.
It is still an empty shell.
Not quite home.
So I dwell between “not a home” and “not quite home”…remembering past homes and dreaming of future ones, always striving to remember that home, by definition, is a place. And yet my home, by nature, is a relationship.