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Writer's pictureKaya Long

Home is not a place

Home is not a place,

not a teether,

but a warm embrace.

It’s a potent kind of comfort,

like a hug from the inside out.

Pools of solace sit so still,

you can float about

on the surface

without the fear

of sinking,

or your head going under.

The shocking cold

stays sequestered

below

where it seems

inconceivable.

Weightless,

you lay wishing

that this warmth

was

indestructible,

solid and sound,

always surrounding your

tired bones and tear ducts,

cushioning even the thought

of falling,

reminding you to listen

to the rhythm

of your heartbeat,

to notice the

steady soundtrack

that says

you are here,

each beat a testament

to just how impossible

that is.

But alas,

you are here,

basking in this beautiful moment

this fleeting,

fluttery embrace,

for home

is not

a place.



*Cover photo by Kaya Long

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