Wednesday, November 9, 2011

"I wake alone- pretend that I am finally home."

Good morning.
I'm up and it's just barely light out, the sky is yawning, the most ambitious birds sneaking in their first chirps. It doesn't feel real- this navy sky moment before the world breaks out into vivid song.

But here I am. I fly to las vegas today. I am going to a marketing meeting today. I am renting photo equipment today. I am taking a shower today. I am sending a lover something sweet in the mail today. I am going to smile today. I will look nicer than usual today. I will spend time with my dad today.

The title of this post is from one of my favorite old Cursive songs. The Recluse.
It's pretty heart-wrenching. More than I feel at the moment, but here's the thing- I've been traveling since June and it's hard to remember the definition of home. Is it where you sleep at night? Where your family is? Where you're paying rent? Where you reside? Where your things are? Where people know you? Where you helped paint the walls? A place where you feel safe?

Sometimes I think home is in the arms of another, but see- then a breakup renders you homeless.

I have paid mortgages and taken out loans for a home built of love. So many times over. Still I only have this plot of land inside my chest.

 I am going to build a garden where my heart should be.