Home

My home is in the sigh of every last goodbye.

My home is in the glow of Christmas lights pinned to my ceiling.

a poor man's attempt at capturing a galaxy in my bedroom

My home is in every held breath as we drive through the I-10 tunnel.

a time capsule of childhood potential

My home is in the way my high school boyfriend always smelled like summer.

warm, vague, and holding so many dreams of what it all could be

My home is in the late-night memories of the summer when I was 17.

I knew you didn’t love me, but I at least had to try

My home is nestled between every lesson I never wanted to learn.

but you made me take notes anyway

My home is in the profound seconds passing under the highway stacks.

taking in how giant they really are and how small I really am

a reminder that everything relies on perspective and to never underestimate

My home is the way the 9 a.m. sun pours through cracks of the shutters in a room I will never inhabit again.

as though time had stopped for the specs of dust to dance with me in the fragmented lines of light

My home is the way my body cascades over yours for our souls to mingle a moment.

to forget all other iterations of home

My home is in the delicate balancing act of a cigarette on your bottom lip.

waiting for you to

inhale me

My home is in the pause before bad news.

when I already knew

you were through

My home is in the sigh of

every

last

goodbye.