A Decent Melody
What is this building, these four walls that masquerade as a home? They hold nothing for me, nothing but clothes and undue responsibility. I feel nothing as I make the long trek back again. All that awaits me there is premature motherhood and part-time psychologist training. It is not a home. It is not a place I look forward to returning to at the end of a stressful day. It is not where my heart is. It is not what sings to my soul as I drive down these dark roads. It's your music my ears crave to hear. It's your arms that protect me from the storms outside. It's your bed my body sinks into at the end of each tiring day. Walking barefoot up to your porch, a song on my mind and your love on my lips, I've finally come home.