Home

My soul comes back to these places when the chaos has rid my body of the toxins. When I am seeking rest from this strange and wild world, I journey towards the familiar, the Devine, the arms that are always open and ready to embrace me. I come home.
It's strange to know where home is after so many absences and leavings, after years of feeling homeless and like a wanderer. Suddenly, I have found not one, but many places to call my own.
Home is a friend at Coffee Cottage, the seat by the window where I currently write this, and food and drink that comforts me. Home is a yard full of boats and cars and a red neck friend with his dog named Rush keeping me alive through it all. A second story loft above Liberty and Court Street in Salem with my parents ever listening ear is home. Chats with my sisters bring that feeling too. And Melody, always present even in our perpetual absences from one another, too is my home. At night, when I climb the stairs to a welcoming meow and eyes that watch and know my every move, I am home in the traditional sense.
And one day, maybe I will find the home I have so long been looking forward to, locked in another's embrace, building a family and life together. I no longer dread the days away, however. I am learning that home is where the heart is and how to share my heart with you. Thanks for helping me come home.