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Home 

Can you find a home in a person? Perhaps. They say home is where the heart is, and sure I'm grateful for those I have in my life, I have my parents, my grandparents, my dear friends, cousins, a fair cherry-picking of a few who have my back and are a strong foundation. But a home? Well my heart is spread in all of these, scattered like seeds growing in each one, so I've got many bases but they're continually growing, and that means constantly moving, upwards, side to side, backward, sometimes. Which is wonderful, it's great, but it's not a home. It's not four walls that you know will always be there and you can call your own. The idea of slabs of cement that have incased you for childhood, for six years, somehow containing everything you ever needed, anything you ever knew. An illusion, of course, made out of wood, but one that you think you can feel with your bare hands, even if it's not really there. And would you move again? Why of course, but you'd have your own little nest to return to, even in the reach of your mind's eye. A trick the brain has played on us. And the thought, the very threat of losing what small inch of stability you think you once had, why it sets sail to all else, it sets you reeling off, reaching out, crying for an answer from an old lover as to why they left? Trickling cement, never turned to concrete. Waving for your lifeline, struggling onto a raft to hold onto whilst you drift in the shallow ends, just waiting to land. Count your blessings. Count your blessings. You're not asking for more, you're just trying to hold on till you reach your shore. 

And you remember a hotel room, age 10, you think its an adventure, but really Daddy couldn't pay the rent, and why? Well, he simply followed his dreams. And a hand, small, pressed against a cold window pane, a woman, somehow related, running towards as the car hurtles off down the road, you see water running down her cheeks, mouth gaped open but no sound and she gets smaller and smaller until she is a tiny figure floating in the air behind you, one breath and she goes, along with all the memories. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.