I am a wanderer. All my life I have been looking; searching for a face, a place, a feeling to call my ‘home’. It has been exhausting really – always thinking ‘ah, here is my stop’ only to be given an eviction notice.
All this searching; but never a permanent home. I think I was only looking to ‘belong’. Belong to you, to him, to whom?
It has been a while since I realised ‘home’ is not a place. A place is a house. Home is not a thing. A thing is just that, a thing. Home is a person, a feeling of your very own security blanket that doesn’t wear off with time.
All this searching and what? I have built my home with the foundation of your love. But your love is temporary. I pack my bags and go. I stop and build again, but this time I am kicked out. I don’t give up, I am building; again, and again, and again. But there is always a big bad wolf huffing and puffing my ‘home’ down.
The big bad wolf is reality. I build my ‘home’ on those who already have a home. So really, what I have been building all along are cotton candy houses. You eat it up, when I am no longer your muse.
What do I do now? Keep looking or put up a tepe? I could be a warrior princess of my own story.
Maybe not all of us are meant to find a permanent home.
I am glad you’ve found yours.
Words unsaid 