How does home feel like
I can’t remember.
There’s no room for missing,
When I can’t remember what to miss.
There’s only an image, a memory, a blur
Of what home looks like.
Through the gate: the Kelisa, the Citroën, the small garden, the windows and the wooden door.
Through the wooden door: the piano, the shelves, the staircase, the sofa, the carpet, the tv, the dining table
The noises, the laughter, the faces
And the smiles.
My longest time away from home.
How does home feel like.
Written on Wednesday, 6 May 2009 at 11:32