The Home I Don't Live In - Poem

I like to believe we all have that home away from home. That place that feels safe and warm even though we don't physically live there. There are two very special places in the world that I consider being my homes away from home. Whenever I return to those places I never actually feel like I've left and that's what this poem is about.

The Home I Don't Live In 

Someone bumped into you but you don't care.
An amateur pianist plays Beethoven badly outside;
you call it home, although you don't live there.

Cobbled uneven streets under your feet as a glare
of sunlight peaks over restaurants where everything's fried.
Someone bumped into you but you don't care.

Antique shops filled with retro memorabilia. You're aware
you can't afford that 1950's coat. I can, you lie.
You call it home, although you don't live there.

Standing by the pier while you take silly pictures, people stare.
Lungs filled with sea air as you stumble off a ride.
Someone bumped into you but you don't care.

Rings with lapis lazuli, garnet and turquoise, a pagan's lair.
Sitting on the beach, staring longingly at the tide,
you call it home, although you don't live there.

Sat in the cold, the screams of joy from the fair,
chips in hand for seagulls to steal, flocking like a tribe.
Someone bumped into you and you don't care
because you call it home, though you don't live there.

by Lauren Wallis