I remember when i was younger. Back when everyone and everything seemed so happy.

So complacent.

So content.

I don’t know what home is anymore,

I used to think it was a place, a series of walls filled with comfort and familiarity to fall back on. Something i assumed i was supposed to ache to go back to

When i was little I wanted home to be the moon.

At 14 I remember sitting on top of the roof at my mothers house

Staring at the sky and wondering what i did to deserve to feel so empty

What i did to earn the hollowness in my chest,

Wondering how after all these years spent i still hadn't earned enough strength to hold the weight of it all I know now that the hollowness once in my chest was nothing more than an empty home waiting for you to reside in

I wish I had met you then I wish you had been there, to prove my concept of home wrong,

And i wish you had been there to make me feel something

I would wander through dark and dangerous streets

Staring at the artificial light as it casted shadows upon my face

Resting my head on the curbs trying to remember all the mistakes I've made to date

All the ways I’ve failed and all the ways that led me to this exact moment.

I never came to a conclusion

And now, 17 years later i met you

I've learned that home isn't a place

Houses aren't homes and the abnormalities of the world we live in can prove that

The way comfort and belonging can finally coexist in my reality can prove that

Home is a person.

Home is you.

And the moon doesn't even compare