In this state of my life, I have so many houses, yet struggle with a constant feeling of homelessness. While houses are just places, and homes are about people, its hard when you don't really have a house you belong to.
If it were just about myself, I may be able to look at this time as an adventure. Always on the go, living out of a bag and the back of my car, ready for anything. But its not just about me. It is having a place where I can FEEL my children when I am not with them. It is about looking in their rooms, picking their clothes up off the floor, making their beds, hanging their towels in the bathroom. I like seeing their favorite snacks in my pantry, the blankets on the couch as they left them the last night they were here. Their art is on the fridge, their dirty sneakers by my door.
You are my new home, my life, the love that brings my soul alive. But your house is an empty cave of memories that don't belong to me. When I am there without you I hear the echoes of laughter belonging to children not my own. I feel I am betraying my own when I walk by their vacant bedroom, fold their towels or make their beds. I feel torn. I wonder what I've done and how I got here. I ache for the two who are a part of me. I long to go home.
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