Hireath

What is home and where does one find it?

sometimes I think home is

soft, lavender-scented linens

that radiate warmth and sunshine upon my drowsy cheeks

the first breath of air when I finally come home

when how much I inhale is never enough and I dig tight pockets in my lungs to fill

maybe store. I never quite know

home is sometimes the strangest smile. her especially close hug. the starry sky. 

home has many faces, many sides

but home is really you. 

maybe if I could pick home up and roll it away

maybe if I could beg and plead that I wanted to stay

maybe it’s sometimes enough that you’re just a phone call away

that I don’t ask, but you still stay.