it feels weird
to live in a house that isn't mine, you know like all my stuff is here
and that's it
that's just it, if none of this was mine, would it matter? Does the inherent value, the relationship I feel towards my possessions disappear on the word of the law?
what do you feel?
resurfacing...
the bubbling up of all my fears, my good health left behind by the roadside
my identity an exploration of itself, the struggle in each moment not of my troubles
but of this new alien feeling in my bones
I am kind to myself. Where it suits me to be kind, where I feel it is necessary to heal and no further. I love you
still being here I see again the objects which I cannot call my own, the material so far from me, the look in your eyes
that I call home.
I hold myself in your arms, take in the pleasure of each scent and texture the grim gentle joys on the tips of my fingers
I hold you
