Being back in New York feels strange. I hesitate to use the term "home" now when I refer to it. I no longer know where that place is that home is supposed to be.
No, I know where it is. But it is not a place where I can pack up and move to. It is only a place where I can be. In your arms, my head nestled against your chest, hair bristling against my cheek. Our limbs entwined, our skin glowing red and melting into each other. Your kisses peppering my salty forehead and cheeks and nose and ears. You and I in our nakedness, pressing as near together as we could, and still you whispered "I can't get close enough to you."
And here I am, far away from you, sitting alone in my large empty bed. In the darkness of early morning, alone. The sounds outside my window seem so harsh and foreign and unrelenting. The sense of ease I felt with you lingers in my memories and yet here I am. Restless. Longing. Homesick.
I miss you already.
2 comments:
Home is a very confusing word. Most people have only one home-which is binding. For young people like us, transitioning to many homes or apartments in such a short amount of time -gives us an opportunity to examine what kind of home we want physically and emotionally. Is it where your bed is or where your heart is? Is it where you return to or where you long to be or is it both? Is your physical home only your home because your heart has gotten used to a familiar room with the furniture you have had so many memories with?
(while this is a response to your blog, it has given me ideas for my own so if you see this on my blog..don't get mad)
I wrote a response to this but it deleted and I really don't want to type it all over again- but I will respond to it on my blog because I think it is very worth mentioning. I will refer people to your blog as well.
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