Home

My mother mentioned this song to me tonight. I’d only listened to it once before, after my sister had mentioned it maybe two months ago. Tonight Mom said she thought of this as my and Q’s song. That she was less sad that I was so far away when she thought about him taking care of me and making me happy.

And it’s true. Home could be a sleeping bag under a bridge in a bad part of town, if only he shared that sleeping bag with me. I’ve learned a lot about home from the move, through leaving the only place I thought of as home. I still say “back home” sometimes when I talk about Oklahoma. But I don’t think I really mean it. I say “going home” when I talk about heading back to la maison grise, but I don’t really mean that, either. I’ve had other homes in the past, but at this point, I only have one, and it doesn’t matter where in the world I am. Next to him, I’m home. Soon, our house will be our home again. The Glorious Homecoming is in view, and some good times loom between now and then.

It’s true, Mother. He takes care of me, and I take care of him. And if I had the power to change the circumstances, I wouldn’t have to ever be far away from any of the people I love. But I wouldn’t change what he and I have. Together, we are home.

I can’t believe my fragile meatsuit can contain all of my joy.  I can’t wait! I’m gonna make this place your home, Q.

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