Home

I walk into our home and you have incense burning. It smells like smoke and rotting pumpkins and I want so badly to tell you that it doesn't smell like home but this is home which is absoultely confusing to my brain. You have the incense burning and I'm burning on the inside wanting badly to pull you in close,put my nostrils up to your shirt to escape the smell that fills this house. I want to smell you, my actual home. I want to be draped across your lap like a french gril on a fancy vaction and bask in your aroma. I come further inside our home that doesn't smell like home and you finally pull me in close enough that our bodies could be mistaken for one body. I smell you and I get flashbacks of our lives. Our first kiss, your morning dances, the way your hair lays across your forehead when you first wake up, our afternoon walks. I'm utterly postive now that I am home, wrapped up inside your arms standing in our kitchen. It's funny how a smell can mean everything, how the smell of you could hold so much space inside my heart. I relax inside your arms and repeat inside my head I am home, I am home, this is home. You are my home and I'll always perfer the smell of you over incense. -M.D.L