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