Uhh...err. It seems that I'm just stopping in for one of my usual, now sporadic visits. And in a way, perhaps it's fitting that not even this place feels like home anymore. The one thing I want most out of life, the one driving force that keeps me clinging to the steadiness of earth when everything else in the world spins wildly -- Home, and I may have never felt more Home-less. My apartment has grown stale and I don't really stay there much, his place feels most familiar but I'm acutely aware that it isn't mine, there aren't my things in the closets and cabinets, and of course, there's the house, still under construction, the bane of my existence, holding a car load of crap I hauled around for a while and an address I hesitate to actually use. I'm hesitant to have anything of import attached to that place since it seems that my landlord's promises are empty...an understatement.
Tonight it's just me and any one of those three choices - a bed so mine that the crest of my body is pressed deep into the mattress, the empty, dishonest walls of an old bungalow where I could curl up in a corner of one of the many vacant rooms, or here: burrowed into pure, warm comfort, a pool where our tributary veins run partially together, picking the peanut butter cups out of his Moose Tracks, dressed in an oversized PT shirt, my favorite. He isn't here but he is, he is everywhere in this room and the next and in the shower. In a few hours I'll climb a flight and a half of stairs and melt into sleep and it will feel like he's the big spoon because his essence lingers like a decadent flavor.
This is the last preview.
[all we can do is keep breathing.]
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