We gift each other conversations about our future as if it were our present.
These conversations open doors and all I can hear is “Honey, I’m home!”
All we have are the blueprints
yet, our backs ache from building the home that only lives in our imagination.
We have set rules our children must follow as if they were living not only under our minds, but under our roof.
I can see home in your eyes.
I can feel it surrounded by your arms.
Home is wherever I’m with you.