beginning to feel like home

*drains coffee cup*

*eyes become very, very wide*

*dives for broken office chair and hits shuffle*

Salt And The Sea | The Lumineers

Night so late it’s nearly bleeding into sunrise, a trembling sort of exhaustion, the taste of wild freedom and soft anxiety that always comes when you’re eight hours from home. The unfamiliar bedroom is so perfectly dark that your hand in front of your face is an invisible shadow, and the two small siblings asleep across the room are only discernible by sound of their rhythmic breathing. The sister beside you has stolen the blankets in her slumber, so you sit close by the window with a sheet around your shoulders, the haunting comfort of music whispering in one ear and the lonely voice of a barking dog in the other.

Blue Eyed Girl | The Arcadian Wild

The windshield is a blur of raindrops, rivers of water reflecting the colors of a downtown street as they streak across the glass. In the backseat, somebody is on a desperate search for snacks, and the music coming through the car’s speakers is echoing outside of your own tiny universe for once. You pull your shoes off, the sky crashes with thunder, and then your mother comes running across the parking lot, wide-eyed in the wind and rain as you scramble to let her in. She dives into the car, slamming the door behind her, breathless and grinning as water drips off her glasses and soaks her already-wet clothes. “Well then,” she gasps, still trying to catch her breath, and now you’re all laughing, and the rains pours down even harder, crashing against the earth with such force that you’d think the sky itself was in on the joke.

The Heart (Live Room Version) | NEEDTOBREATHE

Ten years old, water in your eyes, wet hair streaming loose around your shoulders as you come up for air and squint in the sunshine. The sky is a cloudless mirror of blue, and when you turn and dive, the water has caught the light, turning the floor of the pool into a glittering miracle. At the surface, six other children shout and wrestle and turn the world wet and loud, looking from below like the perfect blurry picture of summer. When you get home, you’ll collapse on the couch in blissful exhaustion, waking up to an all-consuming hunger and a quiet house. You’ll find a snack and sit on top of the kitchen table to eat it, swinging sunburned legs above the floor, certain that you own the entire perfect world until someone wearily tells you to stop climbing on the furniture.

Dreamsicle | Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

Curled up on the couch, phone in hand, watching the minutes pass and begging yourself not to fall asleep. Time is dragging itself along in slow motion, and your eyes are incredibly heavy. 11:50. You stand up and pace, humming obnoxiously loudly in your mind to keep it from drifting past the point of no return. 11:54. Wander into the kitchen to stare at the moths fluttering around the front porch light, then back to the couch, then slide onto the floor to stare at the ceiling. Sit up, suddenly awake—midnight. Refresh the bright little screen until an album image appears, feeling a spark of anticipation that becomes warm comfort as the music floods your senses. Fall asleep on the couch in a pile of pillows, your mind echoing with new lyrics that are already beginning to feel like home.

If You Love Me | Steven Page

You’re on the dining room floor, nearly vibrating with sugar-induced energy, and the space around you is becoming an ocean of crookedly folded laundry as you work. You just got off the phone—the kind of conversation that leaves you grinning whenever you think about it. The basket is emptying faster than you’d hoped, so you jump to your feet to pace, desperate for perpetual motion of any kind, spinning across the living room and opening a door and closing it and hugging a pillow and eating an Oreo and—

The music ends, and the world comes crashing back down, and the laundry was folded all wrong, and the phone call was pretty ordinary after all, and everything is suddenly deeply unsettling, so you just stand there and finish your Oreo while wondering why you’re a nothing but a very small and very confused child trapped in the body of a near-adult.

How To Be Yours | Chris Renzema

The world has been a wildly moving blur all day long, and now that you’re the only thing in motion, you wish someone would run beside you in the dark. The moon is so miraculously bright that it’s making the night sky almost blue, and you climb onto some bags of garden soil in the backyard to capture a grainy photo for a friend. Mosquitoes hum in your ears, and you know you’ll regret staying out here, but right now you feel so close to the sky that you could almost reach out and touch it. When you die, will you still be able to see the stars, or will they be nothing more than another piece of earth-side life erased in the light of eternity?

The grass looks silver in the moonlight, and you wish you could ask someone who knows the answer, and then you realize that you just did, and for a stunning second that’s the only thing that matters.

……alright the manic caffeinated energy has run its course and I’m out of words so goodbye and goodnight and good luck out there folks *thumbs up*

12 thoughts on “beginning to feel like home

  1. Well, I say that the maniac caffeinated energy ran a wonderful course. 😀😍 I can’t tell you how much I enjoy these posts!!



  2. Okay wow thanks I have no words for something so mindblowingly epic. You have no idea. Every. single. time. I open a post from you I go in expecting to come out dazed and in awe…. well, you never disappoint me.
    Well now I’m just gonna go stare at a wall now. You have paralyzed me, thank you very much. :DD


  3. Clara, how do your posts always make me want to laugh and cry at the same time? Your words are so full of life and emotion and beauty. Love this one so much. ❤️❤️❤️


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