This Must Be the Place

I find myself missing you at midnight.

And also, always.

I find myself missing a feeling you bring to me—

a feeling I found in you; a brand new one.

I’ve never craved it before, never really needed it, so I thought, simply because I didn’t know what to look for.

I never really had it in the first place; I found it in you.

To me, you are home.

You are comfort. You are scantily clad in furnishings I adore.

Your hands are strong, calloused, useful, working, warm and embracing.

Thinking of your hands on me, I close my eyes. I see them. I want them. I feel them.

With your hands, you could build a house around me.

So, with your hands, you built a house around me, your house, and I can call it home.

Your eyes hold the secret to everything I’ve ever thought about you, even if I haven't said them aloud to you and also, every secret that you’ve trusted me with.

Your eyes don’t have to search far to know you are safe with me and once my eyes meet yours, I am home.

Your eyes are dark like mine, hiding a lifetime of what-ifs, and can be mistaken for an abyss, but not to me.

Your eyes are your daughter’s and they are all of your adventures, accomplishments, pasts, presents, pain, sorrow, and wisdom.

Your eyes are beautiful. Your home is beautiful.

Your ears stick out, but they’re small. They suit you—they’re perfect for you.

And they’re perfect for me.

Your ears have listened to everything I’ve ever said with sincerity and sometimes just for a laugh, but when I am talking, your ears are home and they are a safe place.

Your mouth. Your mouth holds a key to this place I call home.

Your mouth evokes all the wisdom your eyes need help conveying.

Your mouth creates this voice, this deep voice I can hear all the time—my favorite voice, loud like mine, but so intentional.

You’re stern, but soft and silly.

Your voice creates music and, in that music, I can hear my home.

More than that, you’ve got this scintillating, exuberant, captivating, most handsome and loving smile.

Anyone who sees that is so lucky, you have no idea.

That mouth is the porch light, the safe glow that leads the way.

And to me, that smile is home.

I’ve never settled, not even in my own body.

One thing I know, is that I never settled on you. I wanted you. I worked for you. I got you.

You settled in me and you put a home inside of me, and I can’t stop looking at you without that feeling of home.

And then, I stopped taking care of that home.

Home was robbed.

Home was damaged in earthquakes, the ground shaking and unsteady beneath it.

Home was ripped apart by tornadoes and submerged in hurricanes.

I held onto what I could, while actually letting it all slip away, because I never realized what I was holding onto—I thought it was the pieces of window glass that dug into us, or the bed that rooted us—but no, it was you.

I am used to broken glass shards, being rooted in bad foundations, and caved-in roofs.

I am not used to home.

You are home. You are home and while I was figuring that out, your home was engulfed in flames and you were just trying to get air, water and to breathe.

How could I not know my house was on fire?

Because your eyes are home. Your hands are home. Your body is home. Your smile is home.

By the time the fire went out, it was too late.

I want to say we extinguished it with our tears, but I know you worked hard to put it out yourself.

And I know you are tired.

After all, you built me a home.

I can only work just as hard for just a hope that one day I can put a roof over your head.

A roof that doesn’t make you worry if the sky will come crashing down.

A foundation beneath you that gives you the confidence to not worry about being dragged down.

Windows that conduct such an air flow that no matter which way you turn, you shall have fresh air.

And doors that are always open, even if some get closed along the way.

I can only hope that one day I can build you a house that will never need fixing after inclement weather.

I can only hope that one day I can build you a house that could only come close to the house you built.

I can only hope that one day I can build your home.

Because you are home.

To me, you are home.