It has been a year and a half I moved out and nothing has ever felt like home.
Here’s to the love of the place that I bid farewell to :
Everyday, to the mundane bed of my heart, you paint a picture of the Lille’s that blossom in the backyard of the home to which I belong.
You nourish my soul with the mist you taste with the naked eyes, that quench your thirst of enormous broken ties.
Everyday, to the wrists of my desire, you tie bells that brush me flat to the ground of my courtyard.
You conceal my secrets to the pictures on the wall, from the 3 teeth
missing to the pink sweater in the fall.
Everyday, you tickle my feet with the feather of credulous search for the innocence I left behind to be a woman just as much.
You draw curtains to the memory of my bleeding knee, but falter my draconian fear of not falling anymore.
You have been running wild into my mind, you have left it sore.
Everyday, I count the miles between the two of us, I fear falling asleep in the womb of my imagined Russ.
You know, I’d come crawling to you, to feel the smell of whatever remaining few.
Everyday, you beat inside of me, are you reminding me that I’m still alive?
And as it is, they say :
The home is where the heart is. ❤
You know dear home, one day, I’d come back to you.
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