She’d been searching for it for most of her life. When she was a child she hadn’t had to search. It was in all the places she was, everywhere she was loved. It lived in her heart, surrounding her like a cocoon. It was a definite, true. She didn’t have to think about it, it was just there. She could have settled for that place, that safety. But no, not her.
Somewhere along the way it got away from her. Changes pulled apart the fragile threads that had protected her from life. She felt drift less, homeless, unsettled. She didn’t fit in her world. It was then she knew that the search had begun in earnest.
Years passed in looking for that true home. Sometimes it was a place. Somewhere in the world that welcomed her, where she could breathe. A new perspective. Often it was just a house. A structure to make welcoming and warm, to add pieces of herself as reminders of her search. A place to settle into and stay. Many times the search led to a person. Home in the shape of another whom she thought was a fit for her. Someone who would stay. And each time when she felt that she had finally found it, it disappeared like a capricious dream, leaving her defeated and empty.
She’d grown tired of the finding and the losing but refused to let go of the idea of the true home. Once, she actually had it on the tips of her fingers, her hands ready to grasp it and pull it in to keep forever. It came to her unexpectedly and was a combination of all the things that had come before. A person, a place, a dwelling. She knew immediately, the perfect fit, a delight. HOME. She was sure for the second time in her life what true home meant, where she belonged. But once again, it vanished. Taken away by the circumstances of another’s life, leaving her as suddenly as it had appeared. Not the fault of anyone, just life.
You would think by now that she would have given up the search altogether. You would be wrong. She’s had a taste of true home, she knows it’s there waiting, she wants it. She doesn’t give up easily.