I have been away and am soon going to be headed back to the house we used to own together and which I now own alone.
I can’t call it home. It doesn’t feel like home any more.
I’m glad I can remember saying to you – that home was wherever you were.
My home was with you, beside you. In your arms, at your side in bed.
Without you, it’s just a building with our possessions in. The building I’m still living in – temporarily.
No, there’s no warmth or comfort in the thought of going ‘home’.