Home is a person

There are 365 days in a year, Some good, some bad. What makes them better? Who do you want to tell? Because when you find that Home is a person, To you at least, Your life unravels. Like your sister's favourite ribbon, Or your own worn shoe lace. You spiral, yet you stay above the surface. Just enough for you to stay afloat. But what reciprocation is a myth? A fairytale, a children's bedtime story? So you give Home space. And you wait. And wait wait wait wait . . . until DING! Their text lights up your screen and you meet them at a playground. And you run into their arms and hug them for a very very very long time. You sit on a park bench all cuddled up, With their arm around your shoulder, now you're getting colder but they squeeze you tight. And you are at Home .