Finding Home

  “This is the part where you find out who you are.” This. Here Where everything hurts.  Where nothing makes sense. This. Here Where there is nothing left of your heart.  But others say there must be some  if not so much more left This. Here Where you are  But the one who birthed you, taught you love Is not This. Here Where you made your choice Where your choice made you  This. Here Where you are alone Where you are loved  This. Here Where there is no taking back Where there is only grace and mercy This. Here Where you can finally utter, I’m sorry Please forgive me Over and over and over This. Here Where everything hurts Where everything finally becomes clear This is the part where you find out who you are. 

Darkness.  Rain. Dampness. Cold. Alone.   One breath at a time, I say to myself.  Inhale. I don't know what to think of this year anymore. I can romanticize it by saying it has compelled me to release the things I no longer need.  I still need my mother.  Exhale.   However, it seems I don't have a say in the decision of these things.   Inhale.  There is nothing romantic about loss lying beside you at night, accompanying you in your sleep and waking you in the morning.  Exhale.   There is nothing romantic about it suddenly appearing in the most unexpected times of the day. When I just want to not bear the pain for even 5 seconds.  When doing the dishes reminds me of how my mother was the one who taught me how to do it the proper way. “Pile all the plates, spoons and forks, rinse them first with water to wash away food residue. Then get the sponge and rub dishwashing paste on it and soap them all. Rinse properly until when you run your forefinger across the plate, it makes a soun