xxxvii

take me home, i always say. but i never explain how my homesickness is you. because when we were home, you were all mine. it was a honey tinged world and it was beautiful because you lived in it.

our home was us lying on the wet grass, your huge body hovering on the side of my little one, to shield me against the heat, your arms smelling of rain drenched sand and sun dried fabrics, your existence just a little more earthly than the rest of us. but how could i tell you that your love shined brighter than the sun and that loving you was like a summer evening, easy and warm? and so, our home was like walking into the sun after a dreadfully long winter.

you were the sound of water splashing as i jumped in the puddles while you held my hand. you were the colours of the candies planted as fencing around my sand castles. the shape of the glitter bottles in my art drawers. the screech of the swing set in the balcony. you were the light flitting through the curtains on a sunday morning. and you were also all the stars i could touch when you kissed my tiny fingers. you were also the truth through all the other lies.

and then sometimes, our home was time. that time i slept on your chest, heaving with your breaths, lulled by the soothing sound of your heart. that time you tickled my feet and we laughed, rolling on the carpet with our arms stretched out. that time i stood on your feet and you danced with me across the living room. that time we played shadows from inside our blanket fort. that time i smelled the cookies that you baked while you blew on them. that time i watched the fireworks from our eighth floor window while you held me on your back. that time i licked the batter of your fingers and then slept in your arms, my cheeks squashed against your shoulder, as you walked across the kitchen, cleaning it while carrying me.

and sometimes, our home was a feeling. that one that swelled in my chest everytime i looked at you. the trust that i reared every time i jumped into your arms or clung to your thigh. the safety that i perceived whenever i put my head on your chest, clutched your shirt, and simply, survived.

i had handpicked the lumps of my faith, kissed them and implanted them in your eyes. i might have called you my father. i might have called you heaven. but heaven i had never seen. but the light of your eyes was enough for me. i was blessed because i was loved by you.

but we couldn't sit and and count and sew each other's wounds in that home forever. so then you promised we'll build another. the one where we could do no wrong. so then we sat and talked. about the colours on the walls, the flowers in the garden, the shape of the swing, the shade under the tree.

and then you stood up, gathered your things, and left to build one, on your own, leaving me alone. you never came back home to our home. you never even told me where yours was. you never even said goodbye. i never even asked you why.

now i can never know who you are when you step out of the door. i can never take you out for coffees and bike rides. i can never feed you your favourite flavours and listen to you talk about how the world looks from your eyes. i can never tell you that after all these years, sometimes when it's late at night and universe has bargained for peace with all its past, i still think about you.

i hope you found the love and happiness you were always looking for and deserved. but in every other universe, i hope you always come home to me.

so next time when i say 'take me home', i hope you know what i mean.

ps : you were my safest place. no one compares to you.