It makes me happy that there are homes I can invade...and belong in after everyone who actually lives there leaves to do something else. I still think home is a very funny thing. It is a slippery thing, the importance of which is something too easily let go of. And somehow from here my brain catapults straight to the stars.

I do not understand what happens to me when I look up at the stars. I feel most myself then, and I wonder if it is supposed to work that way. And I wonder why it happens at all. I think it is something about feeling so small while still feeling safe. It is like all of the questions I have either in me or being asked of me get swallowed and either matched with their answers or rendered irrelevant and content to wait awhile longer for their answers.

Somehow that makes me feel at home. I like who I am there best.

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