come home
a familiar window
holds the evening light the same
but I have changed
…
home is not always
the place we started
sometimes it is a room we return to after many years
sometimes it is a person sitting beside us in silence
sometimes it is a photo that still knows our face
the places we love become archives of who we once were
we leave them, return to them, and leave again
still something waits there patiently becoming home each time
