home

Everybody has a place

that they call home.

My home, was my humble room.

I loved waking up 

during the hours when 

the morning light

would peek through my window

and warm my bare skin.

I loved waking up

to the view of my glorious bookshelf

greeting me 

with promises of adventure.

I loved the feeling

of knowing i could steal a few hours

just laying in bed and reading a book.

It was my favourite time of the day

to do what i loved most

in my favourite place.

I had posters and polaroids

giving personality to my walls.

My room

was also my home

because when i closed my books

and turned to my phone

I'd see you.

You, with your positive good mornings.

You, with your genuine hope

For my day to be wonderful and blessed.

You, forming my first smile

for the brand new day.

I didn't know

That it was possible 

To feel even more at home.

But one day,

One day my pillow started to catch 

all of my tears.

My books, my posters

Became witnesses to my lonely nights,

When i'd hug my knees and cry.

When i'd sob into the pillow

as silently as i could, 

so that my sister wouldn't hear

from her room next door.

They watched me break apart, night after night.

They saw my mother one night

Hugging my soulless body.

Trying to comfort me 

With "you deserve better"s

And "it isn't meant to be"s.

Day by day

I came to resent my favourite place.

Because how could i not?

When home was now associated

with pain and grief and tears and a shattered, broken heart?

When it takes so much effort,

Too much,

To wake up and not remember

how you always greeted my mornings

with so much hope

and reassurance

and love?

You didn't just break my heart

when you walked away.

You took away my home.

— n. a.