The Home I Can Never Stay In

Almost every day I see you. Only a few weeks before I walked home with you, I asked you as we hugged for the 100th time that day "would you miss me if my name was on a gravestone?" Through our shared tears you said: "If you were 6 feet down, I would never been able to find you. I wouldn't be me, You wouldn't be you." And I knew at that moment you were my home. A home I can never stay in. Like a hotel I pass in and out of each time I see you, each embrace breaking down the massive walls I thought were indestructible. You are the only one who sees past my mask and never says goodbye. We may have so many differences but we can never part despite the missing parts of my heart. No matter how terrible today is, I look forward to that little message you send if we're apart. Or that hug when we're together. Each night I want you to be holding me and taking my tears, Turning them into the missing parts of my heart. And I don't have much but I'll give you my heart. It's shattered, but some may see it as abstract art. Others, especially me, see it as a puzzle that's not meant to fit. But when I'm with you, I realize it isn't the full puzzle, you're the other half. I hope one day I'll live in the home I found in you.