Home (in collaboration with the Roundhouse, UK)

=== Lyrics ===

I was asked to write.

I was asked to write about home,

and the only thing I could think of was you;

and I know I need to stop that, but until I do…bear with me.

When my heart moved into yours,

I knew it was just a hostel;

and I’m not one to settle in but it felt comfortable here,

so I unpacked all the clothes that wouldn’t fit in the bathroom,

all the books that wouldn’t fit on the bed,

all the beaded bracelets and gifted necklaces,

all the almost-ripe apples and worn-out tennis shoes.

I even unpacked my toothbrush this time;

brushing my way from room to room,

leaving a grape, a crayon, a teabag, anything to mark my almost presence.

A year later it was time to be on the road again,

I moved out of you and you moved out of town.

This time, my luggage felt so much heavier.

At the bottom I lay the white bicycle we rode around one of Holland’s national parks,

peddling through sand dunes, woodlands, and heathlands.

In the side pocket, I hid all the funny looking seashells

that we carefully picked on the white beach

in the shadow of a lighthouse in the northern-most part of Texel,

where we experienced silence for the very first time,

sand crawling through our toes until it seemed our feet had always been relics there.

And in between self-doubt and a bucket of tears, I packed a flower–

the one you picked atop the wall of rocks, near the gaping mouth of Balaa,

even though you’re afraid of heights

and even though you know I hate flower-picking.

My luggage now too heavy to be a carry-on,

and I refusing to part with it, chose walking over flying,

dragging my soul behind me like we were always almost there.

Until a phone call.

They finally found the source of your harrowing headaches;

your premature return only flooded everything I knew to be true,

until I was falling over bicycle tires and petals like the aftermath of a Tsunami.

Ever since, I’ve been trying to put the parts back together,

but I forgot what a bicycle looks like and these petals are perishing

and I’m running out of time, and so are you…

Still, you’re the one keeping me afloat,

because you’re still you,

and I’m still learning how to swim.

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