Home… What do we mean when we call people ‘home’?
You feel like home!
But home is suffocating.
Home is demeaning.
Home is muffled screams inside the pillow.
Home is banging of doors.
Home is avoiding reality.
Home is losing yourself inside the papers of a book to escape.
Home is sitting on the rooftop, letting your tears fall.
And then, on some days-
home is laughter.
Home feels like a hug.
Home is the blanket on cold winter nights.
Home is letting the crisp cool autumn air come in from your window while you stand there, inhaling it deeply.
Home is where dreams of a perfect tomorrow are cultivated.
Home is the longing in my bones after a long day.
Home is the ache in my heart when I’m away.
Home is a feeling tinged with regret and sadness, it’s voices raised to drown others out, it’s shaping your life’s trauma. Home feels like shelter and prison, all at the same time. Home is something I loathe. Home is something I love. Home is everything and home is nothing!
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