They Don't Know That I Go Running Home When I Fall Down

You left and you took home with you. Maybe it was about time. I couldn't always be living in some transitory state, with home not something I had created, with home always somewhere else. And I would go back for a few days and try. Or sleep.

It was not enough.

All these years I had spent in suspense. All these years I had spent not creating my own home. My own curtains, my own tiles, my own bookshelves, my own pictures on the wall. The smells of my own cooking coming from the kitchen.

I was on the floor for such a long time.

And now, I'm picking myself up.