Home.

I guess things were different after I found friends. Or rather, friends found me.

I met him on a wednesday. Nothing about it was significant.
I met her on a friday. Prayer and supposition, transusbtantiation, awkward intellectually drivien humour.

'These two are going to be around for a while, I think' I said to my best friend.
She agreed as we walked, arms wrapped around our chests in an effort to keep the warmth in, and the icy breeze out.

'You're different now. Compared to how you used to be.'
I never know what to say.
'I guess, it's a good thing, but you've just come more into yourself. It's like you've just gotten used to a new house, and you've started to make it your own, started to feel comfortable in it. Like you've figured out how many steps to the bathroom, but not to the fridge.'
I nodded. It was an accurate analogy, I guess.
'Don't ever find out how many steps to the fridge. Familiarity breeds contempt.'

I never thought that. Familiarity brings a sense of home. Love. Trust. Honour. Not contempt though. Never contempt.

So I close my eyes and I walk. Walk, hoping that the steps I take over the grooves in the floorboards are straight, that even if I stub my toe, the light switch won't be too far away.