Entities of a Place Called Home

Home.

What else do you call the place you come back to every night?

A place.

Simplistic as it may sound, as cliché as it may appear it’s all that’s left now. Words of compassion echo in the silent dark, mellifluous and haunting, a persistent ebbing gnawing away at the little left. And still relentless reminders film the skin, bearing down upon you with sweet suffocation. Prolific memories, enchanting shadows and deep, unexplained wonder, all wrapped in a metaphorical bow of phantom touches and ghost-like kisses that still tingle after all this time.

Who said that life doesn’t continue on after love? It does, and quite easily, too. And life isn’t necessarily worse, just different. It wasn’t love that made the feeling hollow; it was just the one you love and miss that does that, once they’re gone. Sometimes a thought comes to mind. A thought that it was all just a figment of the imagination, a dream and its world once majestic and tantalizing,  now nothing more than barren fields of Forgotten Then.

Home; a place that brings equal hardships and recycled memories hindered and perfected to what we want to see. Home; if that isn’t what “home” truly is, then this isn’t home.