Reaching From Under the Weight That Once Was
My sense of home doesn’t reside in some building, personal object, or even my family. My four walls are built around the people I am romantically entangled with, transforming them into this place of comfort and warmth that I can always fall back on. However, when these relationships end, the homes collapse too.
The ruins of these collapsed homes draw me in: the compromised structure, cracked concrete, and all its pieces disintegrating if too much pressure is placed upon them. Despite their allure, these homes are never the same after becoming demolished. No new walls can mask the downfall of its predecessors, and no new layers of paint can ever cover up the past.
In this piece, I am found laying in the rubble of a demolished house. Even though I'm aware of the wreck that envelops me, I still reach out in hope that these truths are not self-evident, yearning for a reality where broken homes can be repaired and disguised to seem brand new.
