A visitor,
not a resident
once again.

You walk in and out
as though it was a revolving door.
You visit me as though I am a sovoneour shop,
just to see how much one would miss you.

My heart has become exhausted of
the constant switch between the void and the presence.

For you make a vacation out of me,
when I ought to be a sanctuary.
You turn me into a hotel room,
when I ought to be home.

My name was not the one that was to be traced on sand and washed away by the waves
but the one you would engrave with ink on your skin.

I am oxygen
I am water
Not momentary
or unncessary
like the label of the presence of expiry you labeled me with
Or your temporary devotion.