All my life I have been moved and shifted, picked up and let down, without so much as asking me how I feel about moving country yet again.
Every couple of months, very rarely a year, my folks would kick up the dust and love us somewhere with a new language, new culture, new religion, new history. I'd have to adapt, I didn't have another choice, I didn't have a vote.
Because of all of this, I don't have a home. Not really. I don't have a place that makes me feel safe and wanted, loved and rooted. I don't feel safe. I don't feel wanted. I don't feel loved. I don't feel rooted.
I want to build a home. I want a little place in paradise, somewhere warm. I want to get a whole load of green plants and vines, put them everywhere in that home. I want fox decor, I want dreamcatchers, I want fairy lights, I want colour, I want paint and crafts... I want to build a cosy little haven with my dog and hopefully one day, a partner.
Maybe one day. Maybe one day, soon.