I built a home, a home I left my foot prints at. A home where we cooked dinners together, fought over who would wash the dishes, a home where we took off our clothes from the clothing line hanging outside before the rain poured down wetting them all over again. We built a home, under a blanket on a single bed that we shared in love. I built a home to leave behind. Like a dream I could look back at, as a goal of happiness to achieve, something I could point at as ‘that. That’s where I want to be again.” Home was abandoned. Suitcases dragged through, doors closed, keys deposited back. Home reminded me of heaven and then of hell, like I knew an angel resided there as well as the devil. Home became a mystery to solve. When did he stop loving me? Why couldn’t I see the clues, who was searching? Home became a bunch of questions in a country far away. Home became a smell of nostalgia we can’t rid off, a fear of I want to return but my heart can’t seem to go where it does not belong. Oh home, you must now be occupied by newer people, newer faces, different nationalities, different races but I hope the only thing you’re getting, is true love.
