I woke up with a gaping hole in my body and heavy eyelids that never lifted their weight during the day. The hole eventually closed but opened again the next morning when I woke up without you, again.
More and more I feel like creating. I want to leave something behind when I go, an idea, a thing, something beautiful. To have someone read my words to understand my thoughts, for someone to see the images that show my view of the world. To leave something good behind, to make things better. Why else are we here?
It’s cold in my room. The boxes are ready to be filled with my stuff from the last 6 months. There’s no sadness about leaving. Just saying goodbye to the big windows and the nice view. But that’s all. My things are coming with me, to your place, which will be our place in the next two months. My mind’s aching for it. Finally having my clothes in one place, finally sleeping where the heart is.
Funny how home is not necessarily where you live. Good thing I’m going to fix that now.
I was in a bad mood. I hadn’t been sleeping well until 6am and two hours later the alarm rang. I hadn’t been hugging you like I usually do. I was crabby and tired and pissed off at your bed with its two mattresses and the space that came between them when I’d toss around. I remember having to pee at 4am and thinking “fuck this” when my bare feet reached your cold floor.
So I snoozed and decided my classmates could miss me for a half hour and I turned around again, hiding my face in the pillow. Thirty minutes later I really had to get out of bed. I sat up, gave you a kiss and got dressed.
My bag packed, make up done, I still had ten minutes left to cuddle with you and I gratefully used them. You pulled up the covers for me and put your arm around me to hold me tight. You were warm and sleepy and full of love. When the minutes passed, I sat next to you and gave you kisses on your cheek, your shoulder, your neck, your lips. You smiled with closed eyes and red cheeks and pursed your lips to answer my love. You barely ever really smile in the morning but you looked so sweet and happy. “I love you”, sleepy soft voice. “I love you too” I whispered.
We’ll have our own little house, the living room full of our stuff, with our photos, my books and your CD´s. The bed will be our bed, the closet full of our clothes. We’ll shower together on the days it’s possible and go out for some breakfast in the morning sun. After school I’ll visit you at work, to give afternoon kisses and to get some lunch. I’ll cook for you when you’re busy making money, we’ll get chinese when we’re both tired from work and school. We’ll do our laundry, shop for our groceries, clean our house.
It will be our little place. We’ll have friends over for dinner or drinks. Watch movies together and cuddle on the couch. Maybe we’ll argue from time to time, but we’ll always make up and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
I’ll tell you I love you, in that sleepy moment with our eyes closed and our lips searching for a good night kiss. But most of all, I will smile every time I wake up next to you. I’ll be filled with the happiness and bliss our love brings. And I’ll promise you to love you for each and every day to come.
4am and I hear your breathing,
your body a vague dark shape next to me.
And my sleepy mind spins,
wondering what your dreaming
and if you feel safe.
Wishing you’d turn around
and reach for me.
But instead, I know,
I should reach for you
and make sure you are safe.
So I cuddle up as close as I can,
holding you so near,
there’s hardly room for me to breathe.
I can do with a little less air,
and a little less sleep,
as long as I have got you.
I stumble clumsily over the ‘I love you’s and ‘I miss you’s. The words don’t sufficiently cover what I feel for you or how beautiful I think you are. They don’t really tell you how you light up my world or that you make me feel complete. They don’t say how I’m forever yours. But every so often I find myself searching for the words, and the only ones I find are those. And when the only sound I can utter is “I love you”, I want you to know there’s so much more, that this is what it means. Always.
I just want to be able to come home, knowing I’ll see you shortly. That you walk in, saying “I’m home, sweetie-pie”. I’ll stand up and walk to the hallway to meet you and hang up your coat for you. We’ll kiss sweetly, walk to the living room and you’ll push me back on the couch and kiss me harder. We’ll lay cuddling on the couch, talking about our day and watching TV but not paying attention because we’re just enjoying being so close. You might fall asleep while holding me, as you often do. You’re always most relaxed just lying with me, holding me or being held by me. I’ll try to slip away from you to cook dinner for us, at first you won’t let me go but then I lift up your arm and kiss your cheek; “be right back, baby” I tell you. You’ll smile broadly when I come back with our plates with warm food and say you’ll love me. Maybe we’ll stay home for the rest of the night, just being together. Maybe we’ll go out and meet up with friends for a drink. It will be a lovely night, knowing we’ll be able to make love later and fall asleep in each other’s arms.
The best part’s gonna be knowing that I’ll barely ever have to spend a night without you anymore.
The feeling just builds up over time, everyday. The stuff in my room reminding me of us and making me smile. Re-reading your goodnight texts saying you love me so as I send you a goodmorning one. Things I see and songs I hear that I relate us to.
It builds up and it builds up and doesn’t take long before I’m bursting and I need to get it out.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you so fucking much.
Home is where the heart is
(Rough draft, feedback appreciated)
I’ve never had places in particular where I felt at home. It’s always been my company or my activities that made me feel comfortable to be in a certain place.
Even the city I was born in and lived in for 19 years cannot be called home unconditionally. It’s the friends and family who still live there that make me feel at ease, it’s the close memories I still have from living there. But as those memories will fade, my comfort there will fade with them.
Nor do I feel particular warmth for the city I’ve resided in for the past year, going to school every day, meeting up with friends, going to parties and having a room there that I should be calling my home. I only call it that when my friends are over, watching tv shows and having dinner together. The school building is closest to home, because I spend a great deal of time there with those friends I love.
I’ve felt at home roaming foreign cities, simply because my head was filled with familiar songs or the houses looked so pretty I could imagine myself building a life there. I’ve been comfortable with people I’d never met before, but our online conversations had already created a bond strong enough to feel at home by simply being with them.
I admire how it doesn’t matter where my sister moves to, her house is always home. She puts their pictures up, hangs some Tibetan flags and covers the walls with her son’s drawings. I admire her craft of building a home wherever she is, and making me feel at home in places where I’ll only spend a few days.
I wonder though, how people always refer to home as a place, as something static. My homes travel the world, move from house to house and sometimes they even visit me, so that the house with all my stuff can finally be called a home. My homes usually breathe and eat and drink and talk. My homes can be simple fleeting moments that pass, only for me to remember with a pang of nostalgia.
I’m still searching for a place to call home, but I’ll keep taking great care of the hearts I feel I belong with.