Saw dust home

The ways in which we understand the meaning of home is not a new concept. But still, I wonder if it haunts every person in the same ways which it shadows me.

It has been four years since I last visited the place where I was born. It has been three years since I’ve seen my mother. It has been two since I made the drive to visit my brother. Here, where I sit now, I have only inhabited for one. The longest I have stayed in one place is two years. And then six months. There was a place far up in the north east which I returned to for five consecutive years. But it has been another five since I’ve gone back.

I once told myself that home is where my feet touch the ground. But now the lines upon my brow have begun to hold and I’m not sure if this fleeting point of view maintains anymore comfort to me.

I thought this while I sipped my morning coffee. But as this ritual has proven, the richness of browns found in the warmth I held between my hands distracted my thoughts with the memory of you. What is it in a individual that inspires such fantasies? A willingness to risk a failure of it all? Years ago, a man once told me “love is an action word”. I took this advice and I began to study. I took this advice and I began to build you a home.

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a peice of a longer work in progress