I've been doing a lot of nothing; sleeping sixteen plus hours, so that my bed almost feels like my home and my supposed home feels like a suburb, a suburb so large that my living room feels three blocks away, my kitchen a kilometre, my front door the edge of this suburb meeting another
And may I remind you my house is not quite large; rather small actually, to the extent that when left home alone, I sit in the bath; filled or empty, if filled my tears could cause the already half full tub to overflow, if empty, able to fill effortlessly
but the house which I cannot call my home is so small, that my sobs resonate throughout it, seeping under doors and through the cracks in the walls; all of this when left home alone
