Did It Even Happen?

In this life,

I can forget.

I can hear the unfiltered, warm voices of humanity through the phone,

Feel the vibrations of their existence through my palm

And keep those voices next to me, late into the dark hours of the morning.

I can feel the heat of so many precious arms that wrap around me,

That gently carry me with them,

And I have no fear of being pulled from their grip and thrown into the cold.

I can taste the flavors I once ravenously hungered for,

And they linger on my tongue for so much longer now, giving me strength

Long past the next meal.

In this new world, I can be undone

In the way I intend.

Intentionally.

And yet now I sit here on the floor

Of that life

While I unpack my bags

After having been in the sky for two hours,

With enough clothes for a week

Strewn across the carpet

I once bled on.

And yes.

It feels like home.

But home is where I was undone

Over and over again,

Painfully, chaotically.

In other words,

Not intentionally.

And still I put myself

Back into the hands of these strangers

On holidays,

Undoing myself intentionally

But not in the way I intend,

Because I have nowhere to go

If I don't.