being home
home..
i do not know if i can accurately describe the feeling of walking through a familiar front door & being greeted by green couches & curtainless window frames & vintage flowers & the smell of potatoes & butternut squash & bruce springsteen blared quietly from a corner boom box, but i can tell you that it is almost better than love itself. [Almost].
i say almost, because the structure & walls & roof of a house filled with memories & smells & comfortable reassurance & home cooking cannot quite compare to filling my breath with kisses & entangled fingers & swelling hearts.
to notice the curls of your now longer than average hair, the way the navy lines on your shirt match your eyes, the way your blue jeans fall over your sneakers, the sturdiness of your stance, the way your veins twist and wrap themselves up your arms, the feel of your strength and love and power around my waist once again...this is what it is like to fall in love all over again.
home is in the way you ran up the side steps to my door & straight into my arms. home is in the way we did not let go of one another for the remainder of the night because we could not bear to be less than an inch apart [& there is so much lost time to make up for]. home is in the way i can run my fingers over your arms and feel your strength radiating off of your skin & home is in the way my fingers graze your cheek & kiss your eyelids. home is in the smoothness of your skin and its warmth against mine, and home is in the way my lips never leave yours because they belong together, forever, & to me, it is beautiful. home is in the tears that collect in my eyes at the thought of simply being able to envelope my fingers through yours & know that we share something bigger than 168 miles or education or the white mountains or spontaneous slope adventures. home is in the late night art of drowsiness & falling asleep with our legs tangled beneath the sheets & the shortness of breath from realizing what it is to tie souls together, from realizing what it is to fallinlove. home is waking up together and making chocolate chip pancakes while wearing socks & oversized t-shirts, yet still feeling infinitely [bagsundereyes & untidyhair & ruinsofmakeup & morningbreath]beautiful. home is driving over a town at 10:56 p.m out of what is the equivalent of separation anxiety [a span of 4, long hours]. home is a quickening heartbeat, butterflies fluttering, & indescribable feeling that lifts you up higher than the stars and lets you fly away & appreciate night-light darkness & the beauty of closed eyelids & the rhythm of breathing & the way light is absorbed in a special way by skin that has slipped out from beneath the covers. home is in your eyes [whose windows i've climbed through countless times just to find your soul].
home is you, brian
i do not know if i can accurately describe the feeling of walking through a familiar front door & being greeted by green couches & curtainless window frames & vintage flowers & the smell of potatoes & butternut squash & bruce springsteen blared quietly from a corner boom box, but i can tell you that it is almost better than love itself. [Almost].
i say almost, because the structure & walls & roof of a house filled with memories & smells & comfortable reassurance & home cooking cannot quite compare to filling my breath with kisses & entangled fingers & swelling hearts.
to notice the curls of your now longer than average hair, the way the navy lines on your shirt match your eyes, the way your blue jeans fall over your sneakers, the sturdiness of your stance, the way your veins twist and wrap themselves up your arms, the feel of your strength and love and power around my waist once again...this is what it is like to fall in love all over again.
home is in the way you ran up the side steps to my door & straight into my arms. home is in the way we did not let go of one another for the remainder of the night because we could not bear to be less than an inch apart [& there is so much lost time to make up for]. home is in the way i can run my fingers over your arms and feel your strength radiating off of your skin & home is in the way my fingers graze your cheek & kiss your eyelids. home is in the smoothness of your skin and its warmth against mine, and home is in the way my lips never leave yours because they belong together, forever, & to me, it is beautiful. home is in the tears that collect in my eyes at the thought of simply being able to envelope my fingers through yours & know that we share something bigger than 168 miles or education or the white mountains or spontaneous slope adventures. home is in the late night art of drowsiness & falling asleep with our legs tangled beneath the sheets & the shortness of breath from realizing what it is to tie souls together, from realizing what it is to fallinlove. home is waking up together and making chocolate chip pancakes while wearing socks & oversized t-shirts, yet still feeling infinitely [bagsundereyes & untidyhair & ruinsofmakeup & morningbreath]beautiful. home is driving over a town at 10:56 p.m out of what is the equivalent of separation anxiety [a span of 4, long hours]. home is a quickening heartbeat, butterflies fluttering, & indescribable feeling that lifts you up higher than the stars and lets you fly away & appreciate night-light darkness & the beauty of closed eyelids & the rhythm of breathing & the way light is absorbed in a special way by skin that has slipped out from beneath the covers. home is in your eyes [whose windows i've climbed through countless times just to find your soul].
home is you, brian