www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qb9jY8yAxgs&feature=related
(crediting Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros here...)
"Home... home is where ever I'm with you."
I've been over this concept before. Sometimes I feel a fool for it, but I can't let it go. It's got to do with the somewhat cliche'd idea of "home is where the heart is". I think it's true.
The ex used to talk about home... about me going home... wondering why I wasn't attached to the place I lived. I tried to tell him... home is a flexible thing to me. Home is where my heart craves to be. No this isn't always tied to a man. Sometimes, when I'm over worked, or overwhelmed Home is where my family is, mom, and the annoying sisters and the universality of family. When I'm there for a few days, and they start driving me nuts, Home is the sanctity of my own apartment in the city, where their crazy can't touch me.
And sometime, Home is the place where my love lies. A city, a thought, an island, a moment. Home is the crook of an arm, the light across my face as I press next to that warm body, the moment you realize a connection, the light in his eyes when you share a joke. Home.
And I, once again, am Homeless.
I've often been accused of such travesties as being a "bad traveller" or a "social animal" or even on rare occasions a "homebody". Can you imagine the trama, if these monikers hold true, of being Homeless? Sure, I've got an apartment that is... mine... if not perfect. I have four walls and a set of keys, a parking spot, a mailbox, and a place for all my junk. But do I have a home?
Ten months. Ten months I have lived in this... house. And yet there is nothing on the walls, save paint. Not a picture, not a shelf, not a mirror. I am yet a transient. I've honestly been trying to figure out why I can't seem to ever unpack, hang pictures, and settle in.
Could it be, I have not found my Home?
I am fluid but solid, I will fit myself to my place. But where is my place? Whom? When will I find my Home?
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