Tonight is my last night in the yellow submarine house. It’s not my house, but it might as well be. It’s Adrian’s house, so that makes sense, but I was sleeping on the couch before I was sleeping with him. It’s more than just crashing at my boyfriend’s place too often, though. This is the place that I feel comfortable. This place has been, for the past many months, my home.
I’ve been writing a poem about one specific room in the house. It’s not done yet but here’s what I’ve got:
I’ve come to believe that the way in which one finds their home is similar to the process of falling in love. You don’t get to choose where or who or when or how, it just happens. When it does, it feels right. Home isn’t always where the rent money goes and love isn’t always the best plan, but the result is something that can be happy or sad and happy at the same time. Never just sad.
Tonight is my last night sleeping in a real bed for at least 5 months. I don’t think I’ll miss it. I hope I won’t. Here goes nothing…