[A/N:This was supposed to be converted into prose until it became so much of a poem I couldn’t think of changing its structure. A tiny bit of humongous thanks to Shriya and Achu(and Aarti), who’re the only people who keep reading my poetry and giving me reviews.

I have awesome friends.

And my single-word titles are in full flow. Synonyms can be found for other words, but home ain’t one of them, and I didn’t really want to translate it into another language. So, good old-fashioned home it is.


“For the two of us, home isn’t a place. Home is a person.”-Anna and the French Kiss, Stephanie Perkins

“You’re home.”
He whispers that again
when she stretches herself
to breaking point to keep him whole
(have you ever felt something turn into smoke
while trying to desperately grasp
trails of echoes left behind?)
He whispers that again
until she wants to push him away.

She is SICK of being home-
of being left behind
for adventures and trips
into the unknown, the unseen
left behind for his mysteries
and quests and whatever it is he seeks
(she doesn’t really know anymore,
she lost track a few years ago)
Sick of being what he comes
back to-
not what he leaves for.
Exhausted of staying in the same place
Dark, windows shuttered, doors closed
Until he comes again.

She doesn’t want to be home,
not anymore,
not now she knows what it entails,
the days when he comes back drunk-
puke everywhere, stumbling
into door frames and table tops
(home will be lit up all night
except for that one room he’s sleeping in)
the days he is sober, but doesn’t care,
the days when he packs everything up
for another try of his luck.

Only to return again
seeking refuge in her arms
sooner or later,
sooner when his fortune burns out fast,
later when he’s finally lost himself in the world,
after weeks of hanging on
other people’s arms and waists
who simply just shrug him away
(how is it that after all this time
they are still strangers?)
He tells her she’s the sun
but she feels more like a draughty wind
noticed only when the cold sets in.

She doesn’t want to be home
Not when she can’t find her own.
“You’re home.”
It used to make her so happy
and now it drives her mad
She is SICK of being lonely
She is always there when he wanders her way
Stuck in place, his permanent
Always altering her world
and herself to accomodate him
(she feels like a rubber band
never really fixed or stable).

She is sick of wanting
to be closer
to be further away
from him than she can ever fathom.

(patience gains you a lot of things
one of them is experience
another is a lesson).


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