Home is a funny kind of thing. There are places where I feel at home, people who make me feel at home, things I feel at home doing… and many of them are things that are behind me and I simply can’t return to. Places that I’ve moved on from, rooms, houses. People I have been close to who we have lost, or the bonds between us that have been stretched and broken. Things I can no longer do.
Home is my parents’ couch.
Home is a hot mug of coffee wrapped in both hands.
Home is spread out in cafes with friends.
Home is the riders seat of my bike.
Home is wrapped up in a hug.
Home is boiling the kettle.
There are so many more places I have felt at home that I never will again, and I am not alone in this. You can see it in the faces of people as they pass the places they were once from, as they watch the people they once held walking by, when they see the things they used to do and as they think of the places where their loved ones once stood and the stories they would tell.
There are so many homes that I have had, and so many yet to come. I never know how long they will hold or where I will find myself next, but the memories of those that I have called home are set like stone in the back of my mind, and sometimes, I like to visit them there.