We're Not, But We Could Be
We’re Not, But We Could Be
A glowing white house
tucked beneath the trees
& the too-quiet hallway
that leads to your door.
Home feels like this, I think—
sacred, without question.
As if we’ve always lived here.
As if we built this
together.
I do silly things now, like daydream
about the honeygreentea scent of your skin,
or buy plastic toys for your sweet, destructive cat,
& worry, a lot.
There is a softness here,
but it’s young and doesn’t know
what it wants to be yet.
It whispers, I am going as slowly as I can.
It’s never loved, but it’s learning.
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