homebound
Being back home was a quiet, peaceful experience, full of good sleep, winter beach days and some bloody good, nourishing grub. It was being home, in so much space - literally a house full of empty rooms - to be with myself, that made me realise I was so perfectly happy on my own. But I couldn’t imagine not living my imperfect days out without coming home to him.
The love is crazy, uncontrollable, bigger than us. It is full of laughter and uncomfortable open chats. Of pulling each other up on our shit. Of half-eaten peanut butter on toast. Of long walks on lazy-sunday mornings. Of holding the other through the tougher, darker nights. Of the laziest of evenings spent watching shitty movies, where we spend most of that time not paying much attention to the tv and more of laying together skin on skin and just pinching ourselves and each other - just to double check that it’s real. Of calling each other ‘cottontail’ and ‘dog’ more than our actual names. Of way too many I-love-yous and what-time-are-you-homes?. Of pushing the other to do what we already know we can. Of way too much food. Of fights over who takes up more room on the bed (obviously sadie.) Of the purest, most nourishing respect and admiration for each other.
I got off the plane in Melbourne and anxiously awaited to get my bag. I got my bag and then I anxiously awaited to get my taxi. I got my taxi and then I anxiously waited to arrive home - to the most beautiful pooch in the world. When I opened the front door, Sadie was sitting at the end of the hallway lit up in darkness by the light seeping through the newly opened front door. That moment lagged a little longer and it looked as if she was triple checking to make sure it was really me. I said her name excitedly and that was that. Off she launched, doing her ecstatic booty-shake run, full of the most energetic flavour of bean as soon as she realised. And we ran at each other, her squealing. She lifted her paws and leapt at me through the air. Our noses collided and my nose has felt bruised ever since. A bruise that reminds me of the love contained in this little house and within that little, speckled, uncomprehendingly-beautiful border collie.
I was sick with the flu the whole time I was back home in Western Australia. The days were long, cold and stormy. I think I saw the sun peak through the clouds maybe once or twice. There was something beautiful, something so restful about the rain and the darkness. I accepted it in fully and didn't let it stop me from going for windy early morning beach walks and sunrise watching.
The pace there is slower, more at ease, more peaceful. When I took deep breaths, I noticed just how different the air smelt. Full of salt and a warmth - despite the rain- that crisp Melbourne air doesn't offer. Each time I am home - back to my quiet coastal town roots - my heart slowly unravels and I feel this odd sense of indifference to where it is I live. It went from not being able to wait to go back home when I first moved away, to not being able to wait to go back to Melbourne when I was home, to being utterly at ease in both places.
Leaving never gets any easier and my body still trembles with the thoughts of moments I miss when I am gone. I come back to Melbourne each time with a life that is so different than before.
