I wander thru the hallways of this home.
Dragging fingertips along crisp white walls,
paper cuts catch on chipped paint.
Even alone, this place smells of him. Faintly.
Diffused with my cheap coffee, flush with that organic, dairy-free ‘millennial success’
The sunlight on the floor is flirting with me.
Seducing me with “engineered hardwood” – As if Nature doesn’t get it ‘quite right’
Oh to be held.
Supported.
Grounded?
From here, the ceiling is endless. Infinite, even.
Eyes water from sunshine boring into them.
Regardless, they burn to be open.
All to witness the fluorescent dust dance.
It would put those ballerinas to shame – I smirk.
I am safe here.
Enveloped. Embraced. Enough, even.
I daydream. Wonder:
What if I stretch this “home comfort”
Wrap myself in it.
What if I pull that dust into my lungs.
Inhale,
Ingest,
Become It.
Would I trace my fresh stripes like that chipped paint?
Could I marvel at the infinity behind my eyes?
Find ease as sun rays dance over my once collapsed chest?
I’m terrified to acquiesce infinity is reserved for the special few.
Those born with it.
Who watch and snicker thin things to themselves.
While we kill ourselves pursuing it.
It’s hostile.
But, it’s home.