Home

What you call love,

I call it home.

But it's not the one you can think of —

It's a cathedral that I thought we built.

But no.

My robots tell me it's made up of old bricks,

the ones I keep on using again and again.

The quality must be great though,

these bricks unbreakable.

Unshakable.

If it's my bricks, then it must be my cathedral.

You're not a part of it,

then why do I envision you there?

Standing, expressionless, just existing like a pearl —

except in my dreams.

You're a projection on the cathedral.

Maybe I'm being too harsh.

Perhaps some bricks are yours.

Maybe I was too eager to build it that I used up all of mine.

[Gosh, I can still fucking smell you.]

You felt just like home.

Home I once lost, and been looking for ever since the good old days,

when my mom used to be there.

I hate to admit, your absence is love to me.

Because absence of love knows the way to my heart.

Entertain my patterns.

Please.

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