I sit at a window in a surprise day of winter so close to summer and try not to think.
But write, now, that is something different.
The bars outside the window are white and glow in the sun. They are not bars to keep me in, but to keep thieves out.
I wait for my hosts to wake so they can make me pancakes. My friends so long they are my family. How I love them. They make a bit of the home I seek. As does this city that I am pretending not to notice cos I am just passing by on my way to another adventure.
How to find a home when you are on the road?
Something small and portable is the key, i think (whoops I mean I write, as I am not thinking today)
These fluffy socks are nice, unique in my possession as they are still two of the same (Probably cos I stole them off my mother last week)... One of them would be good. To make both my home would be unwise, as I would most definitly lose at least one.
My toothbrush is wearing out. that is not a good home. too disposable. Too spiky.
My skin is perhaps the most logical home. can't lose it. And it fits under other clothes...
but on this day after summer that is now suddenly winter, I think the best home is
This orange puffy jacket: so portable, so comfy, so orange.
Worn in a house with friends who are making pancakes for breakfast.
