They say don’t make homes out of people. I didn’t listen. Instead I created a home out of you, out of us. And look where it got me. Every time you walk out of the door, it’s as if you’re walking out of my life, and instantly, I would become a homeless restless person, always anxiously waiting for your return, and always fearing that you would never come back.
Sometimes when the wait is too long, and the cold becomes unbearable, and my hands started to freeze, and the silence becomes too much, I make homes out of other people, temporary shelters, renting a space in their own minds, distracting myself from the reality of you and me, and renting a space in their own hearts, borrowing their beautifully lit fire chambers to melt the growing ice glaciers threatening to pierce my own heart, until the time you would walk back in my life.
But it’s been awhile now, and I realized I was never your home to begin with.