Wednesday, 19 October 2011

Ho.me



Sometimes, I go home. My first ever to be home. Here, there are always arms ready to hold me. These arms say I will be loved, no matter what. I will be always welcome, no matter what. I miss these arms when I am away and I'm not welcome where I am or I don't feel at ease or where people are mean and where I am mean back. These arms make me the good one little girl again.

Other times, I am at home no matter where I am if there is warmth and kind smiles and dreamy eyes and happy swearing. This not home but home gives me the new every time. One of these places gave me this song, the above one. These are my fly by houses. A bit of a mirage, a bit of trickery, but they bring good to my soul. Thank you, DragoĊŸ, for the Zelmani singing lady, who sang for 30 seconds and even more in the commercial for my mom's home job.

Many times, I go here. This is my aching home, my Dear Friend home. This is a home of my becoming, transforming emotions, of me and my Friend. This is a house of big dramas, theatrical reactions, true feelings and sorrows, huge aches, lots of knees kept close to the chest, lots of arms wrapped around each other. This is a dreamy nut house. And it is a great home for me.

Then, there is home. Where I always am, because of his way of always loving me. And because of my way of always loving him. This is the home of us. And thus it shall remain. Because it is the home of a lifetime and forever after and more.

Home is me, when you hold. See? Ho(ld) me.

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