Home was a person I knew, a gentle embrace topped with a familiar scent.
Home was a shelter, a permanent solid comfort zone.
Home was a playground, a place where all tears and frowns turned into skittles.
Home was a clinic, no matter how injured, he healed me with a kiss.
Home was a yellow line, behind him I'm safe.
Suddenly, home was broken. Home became a house.
House was a door with spoiled locks, I couldn't enter no matter how hard I tried.
House was an empty fridge, I couldn't satisfy his hunger.
House was a lonely paradise, with shattered promises, bleeding feet and a hinge of hope.
House was welcoming, but everything was dead inside.
So house was demolished, house became an empty ground.
And I, who misses home, is left with nothing.
Empty ground was a tunnel of pain, fear, distrust, suspicions, insecurities and never ending darkness, I can't seem to find the way out.
In the tunnel of despair, they told me to build a new home on empty ground.
New home is now, a house with new locks yet I dare not step in.
New home is now, an empty ground ready to rise yet I dare not build faith.
New home is now, a new shelter, a new playground, a new clinic and a freshly painted yellow line, but this all don't matter my dear.
The empty ground, the old tunnel, the old house, the old home, the man I love, once stood here on this empty ground.
New home now, can yet heal what broke me and replace the intangible, deadly memories empty ground will always hold.
New home asked, what's home to you?
Home still is, that person I knew.
Home is, what home isn't now.
