i just put on lipstick,
the scent of it reminded me of crayons,
the nostalgia instantly clicked:
a stack of books wrapped in plastic and nylon
awaited me as i floated towards that which held me,
my spindly fingers reached out and turned open pages
that whispered reminders of the birthmarks on my feet,
of the early morning tea traditions my parents continued to this very age,
of the unbelievable love that wove a basket that carried us,
through the times when the trees did not grow green paper
when i questioned whether i was superfluous,
and when we couldn't see through misery's vapor.

my past reminds me of home.
i am not home right now (i am home right now).
i am learning it is okay.

i am okay.