Somewhere across a vast space I’m certain there’s home.

Conceptually speaking, home is something I am greedy for.

I want to learn what home is and what it feels like. Is it earned? is it  yet another construct that will never fit?

Maybe home is so foreign to me because I am never comfortable. Comfort is not particularly natural to me as a state in and of itself.

I understand comfort in the sense of bodily comforts. A pair of good shoes, a well made bra etc.

The concrete is (in this rare instance) something I understand entirely.

It’s the spiritual and gossamer comforts I can’t grasp.

I worry sometimes that I will never understand and will always be restless. I worry that I won’t know how to settle into comfort and home when the time comes.

I worry that I will never have a home.


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