on our last night together
we went to share a meal,
and as we drove home
in the darkness,
i remembered our star
in honor of love and feminism.
the house that feminists built grew quickly, as fast as our appetites were for a place that was ours. a place that became a sanctuary, a refuge, a haven, not only for the four of us, but for those that needed it.
i close my eyes and sit here in our green kitchen weeping silently, as i replay countless conversations from outside my bedroom door; when i was eavesdropping slyly from my room late at night; when i was about to knock out in the middle of every party; when people were breaking it down and philosophizing. the talking. and the laughing. and the connections.
a week later, i open my eyes and find myself in a new place, in a different place. not only physically, but emotionally. i open the door and always expect someone asking “who is it?” i expect a random laptop and empty tea cups on the table. i expect to start cooking enough food for four or more. i expect to start the record player and turn the corner to find someone in the bathroom again. i expect to keep living out these little routines because i miss doing them. because i miss all of you.
in my reflection, i imagine the times i should have been here and wasn’t. cursing my job for not giving me weekends off and for making me close at night. but what experiences i did get to savor, both little and big, i will hold with me to every home that i make. and although i may not get to recreate it, i will never ever forget how this home, our home, made me feel.
i will hold my friends close.
like on love day. like on every day.
“always together, wherever we may be.”
under the stars.