HOME

HOME

3 a.m.
Dimmed lights dancing across the pallid walls;
Like fireflies and fairies dancing in the wind.

 Pale skin, as white as the snow that lay across the land;
 That stretch on plump pink lips that were a bit chapped from biting and tugging.

 The smell of vanilla wafting through your room warming you to your core;
Coffee maker drip drip, dropping like the rain that patters against the windows in the summer.

Tired eyes, eyeliners smudged;
spider like fingers tip,tip tapping on the keyboard.

Messy hair, cascading dawn delicate shoulders;
Coffee stains, sitting like fresh mud on the shabby nightstand.

The sand of home;
Something that warms  you to your bones;
Something that nurtures a part of you that no human can touch.

A voice that calls to you;
A voice as sweet a sugar;
A voice as deep as the ocean,
Telling you that you are home,
Resting tired legs across the bed.
Dark lashes resting against rosy cheeks.

Something wraps itself around you,
Making you feel safe.
Something that makes you feel that you are loved.

You are Home.

Not Tomato,
And Not, lastly,
Jacelyn Lightwood