I think of you.

Whenever I go somewhere pretty, I think of you.

Needless to say, I think of the children too. Our children. The beautiful creatures who copied your eyes and your comforting, magic, smile.

When I'm in an organized space that smells of citrus and expensive fabric softener, I think of our smelly room and many years-old clutter. I think of the used and unused clothes making love on the floor and in all the tiny corners of our little home.

When I am covered in intelligent ambient lights, I think of how there are tangled cobwebs in ours. And how the electric fans are broken, and the cabinet doors are falling apart.

I think of you. And I am comforted by the fact that none of these beautiful, fragrant, temporary, things are real.

I think of you and I am home. It does not always smell or look pretty, but I made a choice and I was chosen.

I think of you. And I am home.