Your arms open and I’m ten again, sitting between my sisters. I’m warm and comfortable and at ease and

Home.

You wrap your arms around me and I feel how strong you are. How strong you are for me. I feel the weight you carry in the pigment of your skin and the doubt and darkness drift out through your fingertips as I hold you. We are weak. We are love. We are

Home.

Your hand on my thigh under the table. We fell asleep holding hands more than once. You came to my house and we’d lay on my bed and even when we’d go out it always felt like

Home.

You did a lot of shit and you hurt me and I hurt you and I’ve pretended to be strong like you are and to move on like you are and to be okay like you are. I’ve been angry at you for months but I’m tired. So tired. I want to stop ignoring my aunty when she asks about you. I want to come to you and to come


Home.

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