Home
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Voor volwassenenCompleet maa, mei 16, 2016<5 mins
A home is supposed to be safe and warm. A haven were you wake up to pancakes on weekends.
But sometimes this word can be poked and proded to warp this word into a nightmare. Then there is no sign of those sweet meanings. Not even a thought of family values.
That is how I see my home...
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"Don't make homes out of people. This will leave you homesick and sad, missing arms that cannot hold roofs, hearts with shaky foundations." I made a home out of him. He was where I curled up and cried. He was where I felt most comfortable. He was where no makeup was worn. He was my foundation. He built me up, but I never felt like I was truly his home. I knew I was his true home, but I felt like nothing but his guest house, where he'd stay when he was drunk or just had a lot on his mind. Where he'd crash when he was on a downfall. Where he felt most comfortable, sometimes... Only sometimes. But, I still loved him... I had no place to judge him, seeing as though I wasn't even a halfway house when we met... I just wish my home was more welcoming sometimes. I wish my home had warm colors on his walls so I could feel more at ease sometimes. I wish my home had no doors so he wouldn't be able to shut me out so often. I wish my home was made out of something other than bricks and steel so he couldn't be so cold sometimes.. One night, he told me, "As long as I'm your home... You'll never need any other shelter." So, I stayed. And, I got adjusted to those black and white walls and those hard doors and that foundation made of bricks and steel. I made a home out of him, and I'm living comfortably sheltered from the world. And, I'm afraid I'll never be able to move out.Compleet
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