Home.
It's a word with few letters but with a very big meaning. Not just for me.
It's where the soul finds shelter, where the heart recognizes itself, where pain hides, where love is present in every detail.
It's in me and everywhere in me. Like the air I breathe, filling every empty space within me. Like an extension of myself, enveloping me with affection and security.
Even when I'm not home physically, I feel your energy around me, connected by invisible bonds greater than physical absence.
When I close the door, I'm already missing it. It's as if a piece of me is leaving with it.
"Stay there, until I come home."
No. Home isn't a physical place, but rather a state of mind where I feel your presence.
Even in moments of conflict, when words hurt more than anything else, I still feel at home.
Until the moment I leave, tired, angry, with cracks that won't fix themselves and scars that won't disappear.
The left side of my bed remains an empty space most nights, but I'm still calling your name.
Because, to me, this is my synonym for home.
It's where I can return, no matter how far I've been before, how long I've been away, how strange I feel with the new colors of the walls. Or when I realize that things are no longer in the same place I remembered. That my favorite room now belongs more to you than to us. That I need to remember the address often so I don't pass by, fail to come, postpone my return.
But I promise that next time I think of the word home, I'll remember my meaning to it.
I'll remember you.
Last chapter is coming 🩷