On that rooftop, our hearts were sure of each other. We spent the night talking and laughing and we wore no masks, expressions of tenderness gushing out of us.
When I found my way home in the early hours of the morning light, I couldn’t stop smiling. I wondered if it was enough to know that home is here for me when I need it, always waiting for my return. If I would weather changes and storms, but always find solace here. When I would be ready to return permanently, when the cycle of life would have run it’s course, when I’ll end up where I began. I wondered if I had no choice but to look for home everywhere I go.
There is one thought that remains clear, the last thing I remember thinking before sleep stole me.
Maybe it is true that once you leave home you can never come home again. But maybe the truth is that that some part of us never leaves home. That home lives locked inside. That home has place in us, looking for it’s reflection everywhere we go and in everyone we meet.
And so, even with still oceans and tender miles between us, we are never as far from home as we think.
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