Another one for that's mostly for me, but I hope it means something to some of you too.
You'd think I'd feel lucky, having so many homes when some people have none. There should be a sort of security in it, always having somewhere to go, having the option to pack up and move on when one house grows boring.
But, when you have three home, none of them fit quite right.
There's a wrinkled shirt here, a missing sock there, and a hat that's always slipping over your eyes topping it all off. You're always missing someone. Something. And everything feels so damned nostalgic all the time because there is always some place you're looking back on; the space of its absence is your present.
When you have three homes, they shack up with Time and run from you. You try to keep up with the faces of each, watching them change through an evolution of snapshots on screen. You scroll through their lives and take it all in, but nothing prepares you for the shock of seeing those changing faces in person.
Maybe it's the oddness of the number. Sometimes I wonder if a more symmetrical divide would make it feel better, yet I'm always longing for less. How many would it take to satisfy my hunger for the fullness of that one perfect home?
When you have three homes, you do your best to be comfortable in all of them. You try to make them your own, to create a space for yourself in three places at once. But you keep leaving bits of yourself in their infinite nooks. And it's a bit difficult to hold yourself up as one when you're divisible by three. It's a bit difficult for me to be completely Myself when she keeps splitting up on me.
You'd think I'd feel lucky, having so many homes when some people have none. There should be a sort of security in it, always having somewhere to go, having the option to pack up and move on when one house grows boring.
But, when you have three home, none of them fit quite right.
There's a wrinkled shirt here, a missing sock there, and a hat that's always slipping over your eyes topping it all off. You're always missing someone. Something. And everything feels so damned nostalgic all the time because there is always some place you're looking back on; the space of its absence is your present.
When you have three homes, they shack up with Time and run from you. You try to keep up with the faces of each, watching them change through an evolution of snapshots on screen. You scroll through their lives and take it all in, but nothing prepares you for the shock of seeing those changing faces in person.
Maybe it's the oddness of the number. Sometimes I wonder if a more symmetrical divide would make it feel better, yet I'm always longing for less. How many would it take to satisfy my hunger for the fullness of that one perfect home?
When you have three homes, you do your best to be comfortable in all of them. You try to make them your own, to create a space for yourself in three places at once. But you keep leaving bits of yourself in their infinite nooks. And it's a bit difficult to hold yourself up as one when you're divisible by three. It's a bit difficult for me to be completely Myself when she keeps splitting up on me.