A Kaleidoscope of Emotions.

Home:

The outside is a picture of rooms and walls. Chambers and boundaries. Space and its complementary limits. The outside shows humans, like a reflection in a mirror, their movements monotonous and stale, their flaws recognisable and painted with all the divergent colours of imperfections that could ever exist. The outside shows chips of paint and wearing building blocks, garments misplaced and chaos in infinitesimal terms. It shows a material molecule in the midst of many others, and that is all that there is.

Yet, when you’re home, you are not outside. Home welcomes you in, it soaks you like a tidal wave with a picture in motion, its spiralling waves the emotions that reign the journey, that make it possibly worthy. The inside is laughter and pillows cuddled to the chest. It is stories being told with eyes avid with pretence. It is light flooding on the floor, through waltzing curtains, beating with breezes speeding with the seasons. It caresses the sleeping faces and wakes them up, ready to embrace new days, hours and beginnings. Light is the language of every beginning birthing at home.

The inside is a meal softly placed on a table, thankfulness sometimes abandoned and manners remembered. It is the “thank you”, “please” and “sorry” mumbled carelessly and vehemently, their significance captured yet worn out with repetition. It is the empty plates and satisfied desires, ready for more, but shushed with ticking clocks.

The inside is a time when earnest words need to be stressed and dictated. When guidance is necessary to reform mistakes and mishappenings. It is a vale of tears when drained with loss and longing, guilt and remorse. It is the pat on the back and “it will be okay”, the promises constantly made, some attained and some forgotten.

The inside is when the night touches the world with a moon glowing in gentle vibrancies. It is warmth radiating from the light bulbs, illuminated before eyes close. It is the lullabies sung and repeated, minds soothing as they are heard. It is the wistful conversations mimicking fervent reflections, the day in a mirror, what went good and what went bad. It is saying good night and fingers held tight, entwined, arms around shoulders and muscles softening. It is fading consciousness and silence unperturbed.

The inside is the echo inside of a shell. The inside is a safe sun harnessing a planetary dance of human souls.

The inside is everything, if it cannot be more.