the house is too large with not enough people,
an empty space, a skeleton of something.
you keep running into the ghost of your dead dog
and the memory of your father in another country.
there are too many people to miss.

the apartment is too full and far away to be called yours,
only a temporary safehouse,
and a place of only work and sleep
cannot be called a home.

you do not want to be lonely
but you cannot wait to be alone,
and so you do not belong anywhere.

i tell you: this day is clean.
this day, the fear does not claim me,
and i take it with both hands and let nothing control me.
it does not rain, it does not storm,
it does not burn, it does not scorch.
instead, the sun rises kindly
and the wind kisses this home of mine
and the clouds give me space to breathe.
i tell you, i tell you:
my heart still beats.