I met a man who claimed him and I came from the same home, I told him I've never been.
he didn't understand my disconnected nostalgia, Instead he trusted place and time. I guess he hasn't had much experience with drafty windows or closed mouths.
I tried to explain to him, home is where you hide your skeletons, and I've used people and words as closet doors, when that didn't work I buried them in shallow graves under my skin.
he said he noticed the bones sticking out of my body and I told him, my search for home as left me starving and unstable,
that after a lifetime of asking for directions to churches and cemeteries, I've become envious of comfortable beds and worn-in floor boards.