Im coming home. Im getting into my car all damp and cold. I turn up the heater and blast the stereo. Im listening to Fast Car but I’ve got you on my mind. Im driving and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and Im tapping my left foot to the beats of the song and Ive got you on my mind. I park the car into the driveway and take my keys out. I step into a home filled with the smell of something delicious and something a little burnt. I drop my keys into the key bowl right next to the door and I throw away my bag and take off those sketchers. They are drenched. I walk in and as Im about to call you, you come to the door from the bedroom on hearing the little noise that I made. You look at me and instantly Im home.
That face, that crinkled with worry forehead and those beautiful arms and those tiny legs are home. That slightly burnt food is home. That dining table that still needs to be assembled from Ikea is home. That makeshift rug and cushion couch is home. I am home when Im in your embrace with that sweet scent of something that I can never put my finger onto is home. That curly hair in a bun with loose strands all over is home. I am home around this mess and I wouldn’t want it any another way baby.