My mother’s scent as I lie beside her on the bed, simply breathing and barely talking. 

My mother’s eyes when she’s amused or annoyed, the way they shine and shoot daggers. 

My room at home, with its wooden doors, 

quiet and alive in a way that feels just like myself. 

The place I can be and just decide to not exist, 

the house that hides me away from prying eyes, 

a space where the choice to not be happy is accepted with love that makes me feel seen. 

The one door that’s never shut, 

always open always waiting 

always happy to have me in it. 

It’s a dancing of my emotions, 

a marrying of my chaos and peace all in one piece. An embrace on a sad day, 

kisses on ugly days 

and safety from my self sabotaging self. 

Home to me is where all the magic of the world reality thrive in full harmony 

under the umbrella of Love.