Host

Years back, when I lived in the party house, and there was a party going on, I would observe everyone having a good time, drinking and smoking and throwing their heads back and laughing, gazing off into the darkness over the balcony, plotting their next move, wondering about their future, contemplating their past, hating the present moment, and think to myself, “I just want to go home.” Then I would realize that I was home. I couldn’t leave the party. I would have to stay awake and enterntain until they all figured out what it was that they were going to do.

And when they were all gone, I would sit on a chair, alone in the daytime on the balcony and wish that they would all come back.

I wished that they would all come back and make it a home.

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