bind my wandering heart to thee

older thoughts regarding home

The paradox of home is that it changes.
A house stops feeling like home. You won't find wisdom unless you leave.
Sometimes travel turns to the mercy of arms holding you,
travel turns into something more than running away.

its not in beautiful spaces I made, or the pine tree mistletoe.
I should have spent an evening listening, tasting, relaxing.
4 years later and this is all I have;
solitude without love is just being alone,
nothing wrecks solitude more than seeing people,
and nothing hurts more than the weight of words unsaid.

these snowy nights ask me to stay awhile.
I say can't. And I don't have a reason.

~
Some complicated thoughts:

So, I'm going to live in this place for the next year or so, wheras one of my roommates will not. Thus, I am starting to find that, as I explained in a recent assingment, "if you share a room with a person you are having a conflict with, it can seem like you are sharing a room with the conflict itself".

I have been losing a lot of sleep because there is an excess of unresolved conflict in this place I am supposed to call "home". And I really don't have anything except this apartment to "go home to". I am frustrated this time of year because of this. The idea that change hurts, I believe, starts to become more real in the twenties.

It has been a difficult couple of weeks. A lot of this comes out of hours of trying to clean my house and relax.

In terms of finding a sense of home in my house, I'm almost there.