after sleeping on a futon mattress for the past six weeks - bed, i do not take you for granted.

i'm no longer taking anything for granted about this place.

it's home, it's a luxury - one that i won't always have. one that i'll probably choose to leave eventually. and in all my restlessness and my itches to fly, it's really great here. i'm soaking it all in.

it's never an empty house,

always someone to eat with, talk with, play with,

fight with. there's that soft warm glow

of life greeting at the doorway, the smell

of seasons and home-cooked meals,

the smell of love.

it's a place to be naked - that is,

completely comfortable

within your own skin

to laugh, cry, yell

to talk aloud to yourself,

to sing horribly off-key while washing the dishes.

no one here cares

what your voice sounds like.

this place

is a place worn from life

its holes in the carpet tell stories

of feet dancing across the floor

and bodies sitting around a fireplace,

a christmas tree, a birthday child. 

they tell stories of existence.

no other arms extend

as widely as these walls stretch

wide and wider still

for me to sink

and breathe

and be wrapped in home.