Maybe home is nothing but a pair of eyes looking straight into yours,
like they can see right through you.
Read the darkest of your secrets,
buried somewhere, lost ages ago.
And you’re scared what if they find something they don’t like.
You’re home now. This is no place to be judged.
Those eyes looking into yours, are just trying to understand how much you’ve been through,
They won’t ask you. No.
No need for you to relive it all.
They’re probably just thinking of ways to give your soul some comfort.
Would a touch be comforting?
Or would it just serve as a reminder of the scars left behind,
by people who said were painting your body with love
but left crimson-blue marks instead?
Maybe home is nothing but a pair of ears,
Ready to spend an entire night listening to you vent.
Ready to put their auditory parts to use.
Hoping it would help you come back to them.
Find your way back into life.
Into the person you were,
Would that be okay?
Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight,
Because you might just fall further into the dark bottomless abyss
That you already slipped into once.
They can’t let you look into it,
so they’ll hold you?
Provide you a grip on life.
Pull you back.
Slowly, but eventually.
Darkness wouldn’t scare them away.
Isn’t this what you’d always hoped for?
For someone to have your back?
To not let you slip, yet again?
To bring you back each time you did?
Maybe it’s time you stopped looking,
Because you found your person.
Yes, you’re Home.