I’ve left so many parts of myself in different houses, sometimes I’m not sure where to go home to. Remembering is difficult, places and faces get confused, feelings attached to disjointed geography lie like bones scattered in the desert in search for some landmark to mark their passing.

I want to keep count of each new crack in the walls, to make long acquaintance with a leaky sink, to remember the color of the paint three coats deep, to know by heart the creaking songs of a sleeping house and not bump into the furniture at night.

Collin