I figure that if it smells like home, and it tastes like home, then it must be home. I can hear laughter coming from the corridor, it moves down the stairs and into the kitchen where love is beckoning me. I will not go. I want to stay in this room, my dock of insecurities. All the problems I left here are still waiting, much to my dismay. Spending time here makes my life elsewhere seem trivial. I love the smell of the air and the motions the trees make, its like they are begging me to stay. The brown of this airport reflects the color of my heart. I wish I could stay, stay with my sweet best friend who can read me like a book. Or stay with you, a man I know I've known in another life. I wonder if people can read my face as they walk by. I need to understand the pulling of my soul to stay in this city. Its like the undertow of the ocean I knew as a child. I probably should consider myself lucky. I have a first class ticket to one of the most beautiful and exciting cities in the world...my substitute home. I figure that life waits for you where ever you go. I just hope that I can come back home when the seasons change and start my life where I left it today.
Reason for writing:
I went home for the holidays, it was kinda tramatic.
This is actually three poems put together.
Birth sign: Not entered
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