Lights and glamour. Pitches and sales. Money and more money.
But let me shift my gaze for a while now. Let me wriggle my aching wrists, move my stone-hard shoulders, and just sit still.
I’m still here.
I’m still home.
Here in the familiar, here where family is. Here in the cliché, here where ordinary is also lovely. Here where I belong and sometimes long to leave. Here where lights could appear dim and dim could mean safety.
I’m still home, here in this box of sunshine and paradox. Here where I am built, broken, and built again. I am home.