Home

I have never felt
about places
the way I felt
about you.

You
were the warmth,
the love,
and the safety
I had been seeking.

You were home
and now
I'm homeless.



---

A friend asked me the other day if I considered a certain place my home. I thought leaving the apartment where I'd lived the last 2 years would be difficult. It wasn't. I thought about all the places I'd lived: various cities in South Carolina and Tennessee; Wyoming, Florida, North Carolina, Spain...Spain, or the Spain I experienced in 9th grade, was the closest I could come to feeling like I belonged somewhere. But it ceased to be that when I had to move. Coming back is different and nothing is ever the same. It stops being a place you belong when you can't grow there.

I realized (and have been realizing) that places aren't "home" for me. Buildings, furniture, cities, countries...none of those are home for me. I've had to uproot, uproot, uproot all my life. You get tired of putting down roots.

When I married Stu, I made a decision. I hardly ever make decisions. I let things happen to me. I go with the flow. I adjust, no matter how terrible it is. And I'm not a risk taker. But I knew I was taking a gigantic risk in marrying him.

But I didn't care because I knew we loved each other. And I also knew that this kind of love does not come often and I had to grab it, even if I only had a little time to hold it.

Stu was home for me. He was a safe place, a haven, a place I could rest, someone I could talk to about anything, everything, or nothing. He was warm, kind and gentle. He loved me.

When I think about home, I think about his hugs.

I think about cuddling with him on the couch.

I think about holding his hand in the car.

I think about him kissing my forehead.

(I hope he thought of me as home. I tried to be one for him, too.)


...I don't understand why I only got to experience a home for 4 1/2 years.

I don't understand why I am now homeless.

I don't understand.