aidan

He reminded me of home.

Home was warm. Home was scary. Home was peace. Home was tears. Home was little fires everywhere. Home was you'll-never-be-good-enough-but-please-kill-yourself-trying. Home was birds and gardens and sunshine and green green green. Home was cold. Home was grandma. Home was empty. Home was 'why did you come back things were much better without you'.  Home was paint and music and sticky days dreaming up imagined worlds. Home was laughter and birthday cakes. Home was 'I'm going to fucking kill you'. Home was pain. Home was goosebumps prickling the back of your neck and you're so fucking alone in all of this. Home was shadows moving in long passageways. Home was a dysregulated nervous system.  Home was wonder and hourglasses and all things yellow. Home was breaking curfew waiting for dad to come home so you could hug him before he left again. Home was trees and the bruised knees climbing them gifted you. Home was skin burnt with kisses from the sun. Home was fear strong enough to evoke ancient ghosts. Home was you're fucking insane lysh you're so fucking insane. Home was I can't feel a thing anymore. Home was slit wrists and suicide attempts at 10 years old. Home was sharp. Home was hope. Home was a love so loud it deafened. Home was butterflies and rambutans and earthworms. Home was a perpetual summer. Home was magic. Home was running away. Home was choosing to stay. Home was dysfunction. Home was the comfort. Home was hurt. Home was healing. Home was fear. Home was friendship. Home was fear. Home was fondness. Home was fear. 

He reminded me of home.