(Before I knew it I was) Home / by Rebecca Tillett

I could never forget this moment and I don't need this picture. I could never forget what coming home each day to this man felt like, how we could occupy such a small space and fill it with such passion; tears and rest and laughter and food, and deaths and rebirths, and smoking and drinking, and pasts and presents and futures all commingling in space and time, and friends and sex: loud and unapologetic, and love, oh my God, love. And dreams and dreaming, and I'll never forget the richness, the tangibility, the tactile nature of feeling. When I close my eyes in the years to come, when we're so far away from this place it might seem like a dream, I'll empty my lungs of air and let each memory fill every room, every moment, every possibility, and every speck of being here in this place. Home.