Coming Home
I'm surrounded all day by love in all its many forms. Witnessing someone else's family and loved ones celebrating makes my heart ache for the beating of its mate. The soft embrace of her arms, her warm breath upon my neck, her head resting perfectly in its place on my chest.
I spend my days creating beauty - looking for moments that capture the ephemeralness of time. The gentle touch, the soft smile, the fleeting gesture. Each perfect for only a moment and gone like wisps of smoke in the wind.
The days are long and I return with all my energy spent: the creative mind having been completely worn and the place of inspiration in my heart empty. When I leave, the day is bright with promise and when I return, the stars blaze bright in the night sky. Through the door I drag myself and my only real thought is the comfort of her presence - her soft arms around my neck once more, her head resting perfectly in its place on my chest. Home isn't a place, its her, and she will always and forever be, my home.
I spend my days creating beauty - looking for moments that capture the ephemeralness of time. The gentle touch, the soft smile, the fleeting gesture. Each perfect for only a moment and gone like wisps of smoke in the wind.
The days are long and I return with all my energy spent: the creative mind having been completely worn and the place of inspiration in my heart empty. When I leave, the day is bright with promise and when I return, the stars blaze bright in the night sky. Through the door I drag myself and my only real thought is the comfort of her presence - her soft arms around my neck once more, her head resting perfectly in its place on my chest. Home isn't a place, its her, and she will always and forever be, my home.
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