I want to build a home on the ground. The space between my closet and nightstand. I’m the empty drawer filled with silence. Filled with keepsakes like a diary from your youth. Intertwining with the thoughts of being alive for too long. Longer than you had ever imagined. Fill the corners of this space with dust and memories and moments alone you took for granted. Driving past the house I grew up in and walking up the driveway like I never left it. New structure, new sounds, new feelings, same ground. Cold like the spaces in my mind that I don’t like to think about- but I like how it all sings back to me when I need to feel okay. Sometimes loneliness feels like home. Sometimes it’s the cold ground and the treasure buried in the depths of your junk drawer, or the pattern of a driveway that you can walk up in the same rhythm to avoid the cracks in the uneven cement each time. It’s time go home and I think I can find it if I don’t think too much.