the happy key opens the happy door.
I have started to transfer my definition of home from where my family is staying right now to where I am staying right now.
That place 15 storeys up that’s convenient because it is nearer to class. The purpose has grown, or shifted, the boundaries blurred. I’ve scraped at the path from home to house to home to house, that I’ve taken bits of it with me too. Now at the end of a long weekend, it feels like I’m driving from house to home.
I remember the well-worn saying of home being where the heart is. Home, in places an ugly spasmic organ is fond of, decorating it from the truth.
Where the heart is.
Well. Better it lie in part of the rent, than something which could transform and bite the heart without warning. Better a semi-empty apartment with plenty of space to dance and plenty of privacy to be a good fool,
than, say, a person.
October 16th, 2006 |
After a while you adapt to a new space and develop a bond with it. Not just any bond but an energy that makes that place your private domain and it becomes home. Home is where my books, journals, cds and bed are. My own private cot. [*snugglez]