… for somewhere I've never been. None of the places I've used to store my **** and myself have ever made me feel anything besides temporary warmth. None of them have felt like the relief that spring air brings to my tired lungs after a long, cold Upstate winter when bitter turns sweet and change is unexpectedly welcomed.
All these structures, these secret keepers, have never made me feel like a dog in a field or a child with a new toy or the heavy sigh you let out after another long day of getting pushed around by the universe.
But before I die, I swear I'll find it - a place where time is elusive and I don't follow the clock A place where the firing of synapses aren't littered with cyclical logic caring too much, or not at all and every day is warm like fresh laundry and the sun shares its good graces on the back of my neck and this place will finally earn the title "home".