A house is not a home. It requires a certain characteristic, more than four walls and a roof. Somewhere you recognise the smell of the spring air, year in, year out. Somewhere which provokes fond memories of a near or distant past. Somewhere you’re eager to return to after a few days, or months of travel. A place which is inherently part of you.
Now you have your house in your head, hold it.
On the way into the area you live, and there’s a breath of relief. You’re nearly home, a dinner waiting, perhaps a pet or a loved one. Notice how your door has its own unique quirk to it, requiring you to insert the key in a certain way, lifting the handle up before you unlock, or perhaps a quarter turn extra. It needs oiling, the flowers need watering. You press your car key once more, to double check its locked, and turn to face the hallway.
Look around, and absorb the environment. Who is the first person you see, interact with?
It is a terrible cliché to talk of a home as a person. But, the love and familiarity you can share with somebody, and find in someone, can closely resemble the love and familiarity you can find in a building. I wish to draw your attention to the details which make a house a home, and the details of a person which make finding a sense of comfort in yourself so easy because of them.
Who do you have in mind? That first person. Right there. Even if it’s the person you do not wish it was, and want for somebody else, you must keep thinking of the first person you thought of.
Embrace them, in whatever capacity. Touch their hair and look into their eyes, or a kiss on the cheek, maybe, even a simple smile.
You sit down and have dinner, it’s a world away from the bustle of the day, the mix of pleasantries you exchange daily, which, when you think about it, mean absolutely nothing; an unwritten formality you go through so you don’t appear rude, before going about your business. Your radio is playing, you’re eating from your cutlery, with your own company. Everything about it is yours, and still, you couldn’t be further from home.
Think about a time a shower has washed away such negativity, and grounded you.
Consumed by the humid, steamy warm air, you feel your open pores and your dripping hair, a slight sting as you open your eyes without wiping the water away with your hands, and let the shower trickle over your back. Watching the water flow along the curvatures of your body and skin, thinking about this home, you’re burning up inside, not knowing the meaning of it, of anything. It’s 2am.
What the fuck are you doing taking a shower at 2am?
Sometimes, it’s necessary to extinguish the flames.