Friday, December 25, 2015


My home is no longer a place
but hearts my heart beats with
Holds my eyes can shut tight with trust
Hand-holds that say loudly, "You're home"
without a single sound chirped
Music from a Christmas gift while spades and hearts are laid out on tables
Smells of rum-soaked walnuts baking in vanilla hugs
Pokes from the needles of the tree we lovingly clothe with memories and moments of homes and hearts
Fluffy peppermint kisses
Saving gift tags from "Suparna 1, 2, 3..." for 9 years
A warm meal on a cold December night
made with love and shared over stories and wine
(Sometimes cheap wine too ; )

Home is where the heart beats
its most calm joyful beat,
beats that thump with excitement
and slow to a slow rhythm made of that quintessential comfort of knowing
this heart is at home


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