All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach…
Hozier, Arsonists lullaby
It is impossible to adequately describe the way it feels to be back in the arms of your love after an absence of many months. It isn’t just the heightened passion; it’s the feeling of coming home. Jersey girl feels that as strongly as I do even though she’s never been the one who leaves.
For us, home has ceased to be a geographic location. Home is the space we can encircle within our arms, but only when the other is inside that circle.
Home is warm and embracing like a bath and hot like a sudden bushfire; burning outward from within. Home is soft as skin and hard as urgency; yielding and pressing. It can be as domesticated as an evening spent sitting together with the kids and dogs on the kitchen floor, just laughing about stupid things. It can become a sonnet, written loudly in the thickly scented air over tangled sheets.
Home is shared bed and shared perspectives. Home forgives and never forgets. It is all breathless whispers and stifled cries in the dark.
There has never been a more enticing phrase than ‘going home’.
Simon and Garfunkel surely knew they’d struck gold when they chose homeward bound as the theme for their now famous song. They captured perfectly the longing and anticipation such a journey entails, be it to another a state or across the ocean.
As I write I am actually mere weeks away from my next homeward journey, which brings to mind all the joy and passion I felt on that last nonpareil visit. All the tiny moments that made up that month lived in the sticky heat of a Jersey summer are a flood of endorphins racing through my impatient body.
I simply cannot wait to live again.