Smells a lot like home

Hey, there!

I know it hasn’t been long enough for me to write you another letter, or any letter in fact, but I cannot help but smile like an idiot all over again, looking like some stupid little child who just smiled their brightest. You know I can be like that at times, most of the time, but yeah, who’s counting? So, why not. I almost always fall short of words when it comes to saying things out loud to someone I want to say them to and today was no different. I found someone I had always been looking for in you, and no, this is not my way of saying I love you or anything even remotely close to that.

All of us spend our entire lives looking for that one thing that just clicks, a person walking down the road, a car that just has to be ours, a book we fell in love with, a person we could never forget. Books were that thing for me; the comfort and the ignorance I could feel within them somehow mattered more than anything in the whole wide world. And then I lost my way to them and my way to home. I tried repeatedly, over and over, hours at a time but could never really go back. Ever since that day, I never found my way. Not backward, not to the beach, never to the mountains, and certainly never to a person. And then, as they say, when we finally give up, we find whatever we were looking for. I would be lying if I said I was looking for some loud-mouthed self-proclaimed, passively sadist and a lovely human being, but I found you. One of the happiest wrong paths of my life.

There were weeks when I spent hours at the beach, sitting with nobody but myself listening to some music that would finally make me go all teary-eyed; I felt alive. I felt like I was finally in control of what I wanted to feel and how I wanted to feel it. I breathed after a long time, and just like that, I felt free. And then we met again and I realized that you smell a lot like those books I buried my face in and feel close to home. I don’t think they have a word for who you are to me; you are not a friend, you aren’t the one, certainly not a stranger, not family, you are someone. For now, let’s call it home. And no, I did not say that home is where you are or make some weirdly sarcastic remark; you are where I can breathe.

And let me inform you, sir, that even though I never want to lose this feeling, if I somehow never find my way back home, always remember that you are replaceable. It could be better than this or not as good as what we have, but it will never be exactly what we have, and that, my love, is what I call home. I would make many but never like this one. So, in happiness and sorrow, in the dark and in faith, in love and in pain, you’ll always find me laughing at you and, obviously, smiling like a fool. Now, off you go. Another story, another time. I’ll find you in some words of another letter, maybe?

Rest at home and in peace.

Another time.
Your four-feet something
S.