Home?

Home... what window do you look through and say.. this is my home? What human do you turn to and say...this is our home? What creature do you turn to and say.. this is our home? None... I don’t have one.

Used to.

Long ago.

Filled with babies, cakes, balloons, chatter, rust, bones, joy, pain , sorrow..memories.

A concrete fortress is all I have now. No chatter.

No creatures.

No babies.

No cakes.

No balloons.

Silence

Rubbing up against my skin like a harsh sponge scrubbing away the dark thoughts.

My toenails need painting. I guess I’ll go do that.

Now.