Home is a foreign concept in my eyes.
Sure, my place of residence 6 inches off the ground is my spawn point every morning.
Sure, these 4 walls house my every domestic act.
Sure, I live here. But it's not my home.
I've been searching for home for a long time.
I wander the world around me,
Keeping my hopeful eyes open and
Trusting tomorrow to show me progress,
Or anything better than today.
There's been many times I thought I found it.
Setting up camp in a beautiful stranger's eyes and hoping it'll one day be my home.
I always go to bed with a flame of satisfaction in my heart, and wake up to nothing but ashes.
You were one such case, my love.
I tripped and fell 7 stories into your soft embrace.
I asked you honestly, with a broken voice,
"Will you please, oh please be my home?"
And you ever so gently declined.
Instead, you clasped your hand over mine and smiled.
"But we can find one together.
For as long as you need, please rest your weary feet by my fire, and let me be your shelter.
But remember, I can not be your home."
Foolish, ignorant I. I rejected your warning and set my sights on signing that lease.
I grew comfortable with routine, with the ease and joy your warmth brings.
I chose to forget about finding a home.
But these cracked walls won't hold forever.
You now hold the molded foundation up with tired arms. Begging me to extend my search.
Instead, I set down my bags and become your beacon of support.
"I'll die under the weight of this ceiling before I abandon you."
The chill of the wind bites my legs through the rusted door.
One of your hands leaves the ceiling, and finds it's resting place against my cheek.
Your once warm smile, now worn and weak, does little to hide your sorrow.
"Oh but my dear, you've already done so."
Down comes the other arm, both now wrapped around my waist.
Our lips meet, the structure is lost, and our walls finally break.
Our skeletons will some day be uncovered, tangled as one, a sight to behold.
Defiance and duality define me still,
You, my love, were always my reason.
And I find myself more content with my rubble-y death,
Than the thought of that home I was searching for, a lifetime ago.
