literature

Home: An Appreciation.

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Literature Text

In a city as dense and compacted as this one, it was always hard to find an abode to settle down and set up shack in. We moved from place-to-place like the whole tired, contrived routine was going out of style. We found palaces and we found prisons. We sought out the ritzy apartments of the inner-city and the sprawling, lazy Queenslanders of the suburbs, always rolling into the new set-up like we already had the Heat at our heels, frightening the neighbours and bringing in a horrific tirade of dead-beat shit-stirrers who liked to munch away on our left-overs.
We'd slam the unsuspecting nights against our beating chests and embrace them with all the passion in the world, stamping our home-brewed realities with our own distinguisable mark.
Echoes of our Hell-bent evenings and body-stoned mornings would skulk around our previous haunts for years to come, long after the Rent-Man had shot his final Hurrah straight into the back of our heads. The future tenants of our discarded rooms would never shake off the possessed feel of those homes, dead conversations seeping out from the corners like your Grandfather's cologne.
A smell with that much sentimentality never wears off.
Days would roll by into weeks, and weeks would roll by into months and, eventually, something would give. The complex, intricate web of self-composure and deep forethought that it takes to sustain the delicate inter-personal relationships that thrive only when collected under one roof would inevitably get the better of us.
One last call from the Rental Agency, one more bill in the mail and we’d all, like a domino effect, start feeling the cold, clammy hands of commitment at our necks.
The Lovers were always the last to go, breathing in the last few sighs the house had left in it, as they let go of a  life they wouldn’t be equipped to live until they’d gotten a couple more reality-checks under their belts.
Then they too would let their minds wander to the promise of drunken, haphazard adventures that the road lets linger on it’s dark, inviting lips and, like a pack of wild, blood-crazed dogs, rabidly pawing at the promise of a new day, the last of us would pour out on to the streets, set-free to lay our curse on whatever Home Sweet Home would take us.
No comment.
Just take me there.
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theartoflamb's avatar
I love your writing the best out of everyone i have ever known. so think about all the people that I have known.