and i never realized it. but home was never a house. it was the smell of book pages fresh off the shelf and the sound of your voice as we talked each other straight through hell.

never realized that comfort was board games and stories, and leaning into your shoulder, and trusting you to hold me.

or long walks through the forest, playing pretend like little kids, because out here there’s no one to judge me.

and snuggling with your cats while watching netflix. or hanging out in the kitchen making tea.

and i know it’s been said before. and i know it’s stupid. but i guess, home never was a place. because despite it all… you felt like safety.

I don’t now where this came from. But I guess I’m in a pretty nostaligic mood tonight, so, uh… have another fluffy friendship poem that feels vaguely sad and is written in past tense because–this is dumb and melodramatic, but bare with me–but most of my life feels like past tense right now. Hopefully this is over soon.

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2 thoughts on “home

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