Home: it was a phrase one used to mean four walls behind which one slept. There had never been a home.
Home. Home. Home is a house in a photograph, a pink house, pink as hollyhocks with lots of startled light.
He made me think of home—perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.
I will leave behind my terraces and walls. They will be enough. They will be more than enough.
I believe that one can never leave home. I believe that one carries the shadows, the dreams, the fears and dragons of home under one’s skin, at the extreme corners of ones eyes and possibly in the gristle of the ear lobe.