it comes back to me in brief flashes of memories. the worn out chuck taylors on the floor, laces undone; the muted afternoon sunlight filtering in through the blue curtains, the messy bed with mismatched pillows and blankets and sheets. it’s in the clutter of the desk with half a dozen books crammed on it without regard, it’s the photos tacked on the soft-board with arcade tickets and world maps and friendship bands.
it’s the feel and dip of the sofa as you lay across it and the noises of the television from the hall, it’s the sound of the curtains being drawn away and glass windows sliding open to let the fresh evening air in, it’s the sound of sizzling oil in the kitchen and the noise of the refrigerator door being opened and shut.
it’s in the muscle memory of knowing the switches for different appliances, it’s in the ridges of house keys and stubborn drawers, it’s in the quiet knowledge of your favorite go-to pan to cook midnight snacks in and it’s in the foggy mirrors and collective toothbrushes.
it’s in familiar roads and lanes, the same scenery, the same sounds as if played on a broken record. polaroids of sunset skies and gray clouds and the smell of thunder in the air. the comfort of backseats of old cars and memories of arguments over the music stations on the radio.
it’s in the familiar way to your old school and it’s in silly pizza traditions with your brother and that time you both started laughing at a joke your dad cracked on a road trip and kept on laughing like catching your breath was not an option; it’s in the comfort of your mother’s cooking and the relentless teasing of your dad over nonsensical topics, it’s in old photographs and diaries and bittersweet aches.
it’s in random movie plans and go-to mcdonald’s order, sunday mornings in parks with indie music and books, the breathtaking ease of having someone know you well enough to map out your favorite places and it’s in that night you ate half a dozen donuts with your friend and then regretted it immediately, it’s in the warm heat of fries seeping through your fingers on cold winter nights, it’s in that time you got tipsy for the first time and slid down the rusty slides at 3 am upside down with your friends, all giddy and fresh faced and daring.
discarded blanket on the couch, empty mugs side by side, recorded shows on the tv, black eyeliner and doors banged shut.
fresh laundry and solo dance parties in the privacy of your room, midnight coffee and traditional sunday breakfast.
it comes back to me in brief flashes of memories and i try not to drown in them.
home: two vowels and two consonants. it sounded like safe and it sounded like love and it sounds like care.
it sounded like two vowels and two consonants.