Yes, you feel like home to me. Standing beside me through hell but standing beside me too close. Standing beside me so close that your breath condenses against my skin and I think, I’d rather go through hell than try to escape it anymore. Yes, you feel like home to me, invading my conscience, forcing myself out of myself to stand uncomfortably on the sidelines watching me flinch as you slither your way and intertwine yourself with my thoughts, tainting them with your aura. Yes, you feel like home to me, warm and embracing and full of life. Warm until it gets too hot, your touch burning the lips of the memories you kissed upon my skin, your embrace too tight to even let air get some air, smothering until I realise that the only reason you’re so full of life is because you suck it right out of me. Yes, you feel like home to me because you greedily breathe in my giddy exhales and gift me with yours, the heavy words you hold back laced in them, the ghost of their whispers left unheard poking me raw, flirting with the unabashed anger inside that you know you’d never feel the wrath of because you hold me by the eyelashes. Yes, you feel like home to me, infusing my hair with your scent as you braid it, fogging and tugging on the strands as if it’d rearrange the words in my head to appeal yours. Yes, you feel like home to me because these walls were made of glass - not wood, not steel, glass through which you could see - you could see and yet you unhinged the doors, holding my hand to hammer them walls down, blaming me when you bled even though you were the maker of that cage. Blaming me when you bled, even when you used the same pools of crimson to paint my nails and perfume me with possession for as long as I live and for as long as I love. Yes, you feel like home to me because that’s what home has confined to, a check box too stifling to fit into and yet big enough for the vastness to highlight me so brightly that I see the scars and dim. Yes, you feel like home to me. You feel like MY home to me. 

“I want to feel like home to you”, you say. 

Do you still, though?