I can’t see myself starting over somewhere else, I can’t see myself getting a random job just to live in another country, I can’t see myself suspending everything I valued yet again for uncertainty. More than it being a safe decision, it was the decision I just knew in my heart, logic aside, that I had to make.
My home became the place that taught me how to transition into adult life, little by little and piece by piece.
When I’m walking around, I think to myself, here is a place where I have failed. Here is a place where I have succeeded. A place where my heart was broken in more ways than one, as well as the place where it was glued back together again.
Now my days with you come to a close, I want to tell you that I’m very pleased to have known you. With you, I have grown.
Once you left you took a piece of me that I only shared with you. You made me realize you can’t build homes in people.
The delicate structure wasn’t suffice to hold us both
The neighbourhood is filled with such a meddling crowd
I remember when home was so easy to define.
When home was simply a house.
Four walls and a roof.
I trace the stitches of her leather couch, imagine myself in this other life. Would I be happy here? But as much as I try to imagine myself there, I can’t.
No matter where we go in the world and how much we explore, we take our places with us. It is a part of us as much as the hair on our heads and the prints on our fingers.
As I watched the lights, I couldn’t help but cry. Cry for the sounds and the absence of them. Cry for the places I’d been and called home. Cry for the hands I’d held, the hearts I’d broken, and the people I would one day leave behind.